


It's Just a Spark (But It's Enough)

by mompasaurus



Series: High School AU [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Developing Relationship, Multi, collab fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-16
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-02-04 21:01:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 26,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1793086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mompasaurus/pseuds/mompasaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Blood Gulch was a town where a battle had been fought where no one survived. Depressing. Boring. And confusing. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> <i>And the high school was shit. Blood Gulch High: where the mediocre students go to clean their brains of all the dust from the desert to become average students.</i></p><p> <br/><b>(Title has been changed as of 6/18. Previous title was 'High School Blues (And Reds)')</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pushing Buttons

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a fic my friend Emma and I have been planning for a while, and we're finally getting around to posting it. We're going to take turns writing chapters, so hopefully the fic will end up flowing well!
> 
> This is a high school au fic that primarily focuses on Grimmons, Churboose and Tuckington, however there are other ships and lots of other characters involved as well! The reds and blues are on a debate team, and the freelancers are on the student council.
> 
> The first chapter is written by Emma, who you can find on Tumblr as memoryisthekeyy. She's a great writer with a rather quirky style!

Well.

Today was just not Grif's fucking day.

He woke up late, of course. That was not unusual. His eyes were crusty and blurry as he looked at the clock. It was 7:10. Ten minutes after the fucking bus came and went. Yay.

Not to mention he had a huge fucking hangover. The biggest fucking hangover since after Jesus made all that water into wine and everyone got trashed.

'Thanks for the alcohol, Church.' Grif thought bitterly, remembering the party he went to last night.

He says party. It was just him, Church, Caboose, and Tucker, at Church's house with his parents' alcohol stash. Caboose and Tucker didn't even drink. Caboose was just a straightedge, but Tucker claimed he "had to be at peak performance for his Wash time tomorrow". They were all such losers, but at least they had each other and the great Grey Goose.

He rolled out of Star Wars bedsheets and realized he had fallen asleep in relatively clean clothes. Weird. Well, he'd keep 'em on. No need to add more laundry to the pile, or waste time changing.

He looked at his appearance in the full length mirror. He looked sleep wrinkled, and, well, hungover. His already dark skin (what you get for being native Hawaiian) had darkened around his eyes, but paled everywhere else.

Slowly he stood on his sleep heavy feet. He banged on his sister's door, knowing that if she started to yell at him she was still there. But, all was silent. Fuckin Sis, she had left without telling him. 

He then walked into the hall, then the kitchen, grabbed, like, five Oreos and some aspirin, and stepped into his shoes. His parents had already left for work, so he had no ride. He had no choice but to walk.

On the way to school, he thought about what a horrible town he was in, as usual. Better to get his daily griping about his life done now than later. It's not like Blood Gulch was corrupt. Blood Gulch was a little town in the middle of Nowhere Desert, built on the ideologies of fighting a battle even when you're doomed. Blood Gulch was a town where a battle had been fought where no one survived. Depressing. Boring. And confusing. What war was this battle from? No one knew, and no one cared. 

And it was hot. Too fucking hot. And boring. Nothing ever happened here. God.

And the high school was shit. Blood Gulch High: where the mediocre students go to clean their brains of all the dust from the desert to become average students.

Speaking of school, Grif checked his watch. He was really late for it.  First period was about to start. But seeing as he was the opposite of enthusiastic about running, he was fine with being late into the first period of the day. It's not like he was fat. Just lazy.

So when he finally waltzed into the bright, tiled science room, he was hot, covered in sweat, still had a melting Oreo somewhere on his person, felt like he was gonna puke, and was ready for a nice sleep. Why'd he even come today again? They were just talking about upcoming goals in class anyway. What would he miss? And if they were gonna partner up today, he'd just end up getting with Church the smartypants.

He took a seat in his desk at the back of the room without speaking to the teacher. He didn't care. No one did. He observed the class, to infer what he had to do during this period, and if he could actually take a nap.

And as it turned out, today was the day to partner up.

And as it also turned out, Church had already gotten a partner. For their three fucking week long project on CO2 powered cars.

'Fanfuckintastic,' he thought to himself, 'I can't tolerate anyone else in this shitty class.'

He looked around the room, scanning for someone he could maybe stand in this class. Too bad Donut wasn't here. He would have waited for Grif.

  
Then, Grif stilled.

'Shit.', he thought, as he saw that the only other person without a partner in the room was Redheaded, Extracurricular-activity-doing Dickhead, or for short, 'R.E.D.'

...Ok, so he wasn't good with a acronyms. Who gives a shit? He was still stuck with the dude anyway. Fuck.

R.E.D. caught his eye, and scowled, causing his huge amount of freckles to change positions on his face, like a weird fuckin ballet that was almost cute. 

Um. Almost.

Just an FYI, Grif was straight. Just for better reading comprehension.

R.E.D. sauntered over to him, an amazing feat considering his height, and uttered utterly unimpressed first words: "Well, fatass, guess we're partners now. What are you gonna do for me?"

"The hell do you mean by 'fatass'?" Grif said, up in arms over the name. He wasn't fat, just too short for all of him to be evenly spread out. 

"Uh, first of all, you have a melted Oreo in your pocket, you're sweating like you just ran a marathon when in actuality you just walked to school, and you have a chubby tummy." Simmons said matter-of-factly, mirroring Grif's crossing of the arms.

Grif, being the kind person he was, chose to ignore that wonderfully childlike choice of words. Instead, he looked down. And what R.E.D. said was true. He could see the chocolate stain showing through his khakis. And, he admitted, he did have a 'chubby tummy'.

"What a horrible waste of the perfect breakfast." Grif said, completely sincere. Grif did not joke about his Oreos.

R.E.D. gave a smooth laugh, saying something about how that's the 'worst breakfast hed ever heard of' and how he's going to 'die of diabetes'.

Grif wasn't exactly listening. He was just thinking about the guy's laugh. It was annoying, but lively, and inviting, like a non-alcoholic party.

"I'm Simmons." said R.E - ... Simmons?

'The fuck kinda name is Simmons?' Grif inquired.

"The fuck kinda name is Grif?"

Grif squinted at Simmons, suspicious. And his inquiries confirmed that he would totally be the kind of guy to stalk strangers. "How'd you know my name?"

"I work in the office. They always talk about the short native Hawaiian that always cuts gym to smoke and who has booze in his locker." Simmons replied, without missing a beat.

"...Oh. Right." Grif replied.

He then smiled. This guy wasn't too bad. He was smart. This project, at least, would be an easy A. Almost as good as if he was with Church - 

"God DAMNIT, Caboose!" Speak of the devil. "I told you a million times, no less than nine millimeters from the CO2 compartment, or our car will be disqualified! Do you want me to put you on coloring duty again?!" His hard voice cried out, reverberating a bit on the white tile floor.

"No, please, Church! I want to help! And you know, coloring duty is only fun in small domens!" Another voice replied, in a fretful yet still somehow happy voice.

"...Doses. You mean it's only fun in small doses." Church replied.

Church, dark spiked hair and bitter attitude, was sitting across the room, away from Simmons and Grif. And Leonard L. Church, one of the most smartass and sarcastic motherfuckers was paired with Caboose, the happiest, most optimistic, and most annoying person in their grade. Actually, scratch that, most annoying person in their school. Their town. Their damn country.

Church sat there, apparently seething, while Caboose went on about how they could use flowers as a theme for their car. Then Caboose placed a daisy he magically, automatically had into Church's hair. Church's face got the sort of red that only he could reach without passing out.

Caboose just smiled, towering over Church's small height even while sitting down. His innocence prevented him from realizing that Church would have killed him by now, if he were anyone else. 

Grif grinned. But Caboose was not anyone else. And Church had a soft spot for the big, small-brained man. Really soft. Like an unaroused dick soft.

Ugh. Why'd he pick that metaphor?

"Hey. Let's fucking get started." Simmons commanded.

Grif sighed. He hated being bossed around.

* * *

The cafeteria was not a confusing place. There were tables, and lines were you got food. One side of the room had windows, the other, doors. You found a place and sat down.

You couldn't confuse it with another school's lunchroom. There was too much piss yellow and shit brown everywhere (BGH's school colors) (York had come up with the names).

And yet, Simmons was very confused. He had heard the word 'blowjobs' at his lunch table. And, knowing that both Sarge and Donut didn't know what one was, and that Lopez didn't speak English, and that the guys on the other side of the table would have been slapped by the one of the girls at the table had they mentioned a bj, he didn't know who had said it.

He scanned his eyes over everyone at the table. It was really just half of the debate team on one side, people from the student council in the middle, and the other half of the debate team on the other side of them. There were some odd people scattered throughout the enormous rectangular table, like Doc and that Grif from science....

Anyway. No one on the council, except for maybe York, and Wyoming, and South, and Tex... Okay they might have said it.

The other guys on the debate team could have said it. Except for Caboose. But Tucker and Church, definitely.

So, to find out who he needed to speak to about being appropriate at lunch, he started to listen in on the others' conversations.

"Really? 'Cus I don't know if light red would be a good color on me"

"Ningún color va a estar bien a tú, hombre de pan dulce."

"Yes Lopez, I knew you'd agree with me! Donut, wear pink to the next meet. I'll wear red, Simmons'll wear... macaroon? Whatever that other color is. Lopez, you wear black and hide in the corner in case we need you."

"No. Perderemos siempre. Pero, yo iré allí para mirar ustedes perden."

Well. It wasn't them who talked about blowjobs. Duh. They only talked about the next debate team meet when Sarge was around.

Dumb Sarge, with his full beard and hard chest and title as leader of their half of the debate team. Simmons wanted to be him. It was annoying.

And Donut. So damn homosexual, and yet so naïve. Simmons had found out that he was gay when he accidentally found a porn site and was just interested in the boys. He had no idea how Donut had come to his sexuality.

And Lopez. He would totally be a good friend, if he spoke English. 

No. No one on this side of the table was talking about blowjobs.

He looked at Doc. Just kidding. Doc wouldn't have said that. Everyone knows that.

He strained his ears above the noise, trying to catch what the others were saying.

"Knock knock," said Wyoming, starting another fucking joke.

"Who's fucking there?" answered South, obviously irritated.

"I don't know who's engaging in sexual acts right over there right now, sorry. I was going to say 'interrupting cow'..."

Jesus. Not them.

North at this point was having an intense argument with Carolina over, wait for it...... trigonometry.

Not them, then.

Simmons strained his ears even more.

"Okay, so I'll come over tonight and help you with biometry or whatever, and you'll train me for soccer season?" asked Tucker, voice incredulous. 

"Yes. But, um, I warn you, my sort of training can be kinda... hard." Wash replied. 

"Oh God, Wash, you just gave him another cha-," 

"Bowchickabowow!" said Tucker, interrupting York with his favorite saying.

Hmm. That conversation was interesting. So Wash had finally given in to Tucker's incessant asking for soccer (which had started at the infamous 'Mascot Incident', which Church had forbidden anyone from mentioning). But who knew that Wash needed help with biology?

"Okay, dude, seriously? You mean to say, if someone paid you, you'd give them a blowjob in the bathroom right now?"

There.

"Oh yeah. Dude, free money for doing something fun."

It was Grif.

"...What if it was Caboose?"

And Church.

"Oh, um. I do not know what you're talking about."

...Caboose wasn't in on it, though. Of course.

"We know, Caboose. I'll tell you later."

And Simmons did not doubt that Church would try to explain. Maybe even give an example. 

Simmons got up to throw his trash away. On his way back, he planned, he would confront Church and Grif.

Grif. What the fuck was up with that guy? In science, he'd just sat there, repeating that he trusted Simmons with the act design and would do the cutting when the time came. Ha. Like that would happen.

Simmons wrinkled his nose. He'd made it to the trash. He could understand why it stank, since no one was vegan at his school other than himself, but still. It sucked.

He placed his tray on the conveyor belt and began to walk back to the table, contemplating on what he should say to Grif. Maybe he should be condescending. Like, 'Grif, you know you'd get in trouble if a teacher caught you talking about that stuff.' No, that sounded kissass-y. Perhaps he should just lay it on him? Be all aggressive and stuff.

Nah. He wasn't that good at aggressive. He'd just tell him straight. He strolled up to Grif and Church's corner of the table, and stopped by them. Church looked up expectantly.

"That's not very clean, you know."

Fuck. He hadn't meant to say that.

"What isn't clean?" Grif asked, looking at Simmons finally.

"Um..." Simmons gulped. This was a different strategy, but it might work. "Giving blowjobs in the school bathroom. It wouldn't be safe."

"And you know this from experience?" Grif smiled at him, feigning interest.

"No, from inferences." Simmons replied, happy that he'd done that smoothly. He sat next to Grif, going on to grilling Church with his mad burns.

"You know, you'd know that it wasn't safe, and shouldn't be talked about, Church, if you paid attention at our debate meetings." Simmons said to Church, nodding along with his statement.

"Oh really?" Church asked, not intrigued at all.

"Yes. We actually talked about safe sex last week." Simmons answered sourly.

"Huh. Must not have been there." Church replied with vinegar.

"Debate team?" Grif shot towards Church.

"Only did it for credits and my college applic-"

"You should come sometime." Simmons cut Church off, surprising everybody in earshot, including himself.

"Why." Grif answered. "Why would I waste my valuable time?"

"Because... we're allowed to insult stuff... and... free food every other week?" Simmons said weakly. The food had been a lie. Donut and Doc only brought in cupcakes every three weeks.

"Huh." Grif said, obviously not about to go on.

Simmons blushed. He'd fucked up, oh shit, he'd fucked up bad. He shot out of his seat, croaked out a goodbye to Donut and Sarge, then half-ran-half-walked out of the lunchroom. In the hallway, he slowed his thoughts. What had he been thinking? Grif wouldn't come to the meet, why'd he invite him? Why did he always have to embarrass himself in front of any mildly competent person who he had a chance to befriend?

Fuck! It was bullshit!

* * *

This was bullshit. Grif wasn't actually gonna go to that stupid meet. Nope. No chance.

...Shit.


	2. Pretty Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _As Simmons approached the club room, the amount of noise coming from inside already told him they weren't going to get anything done today. Again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two, which is written by me and entirely in Simmons' point of view. Enjoy!

The bell signaling the end of school rang, and the students of Blood Gulch High poured into the halls. While most left school to go home or to their part-time job or whatever, many remained and bustled in anticipation for their after-school activities.

  
Well, everyone except for Simmons, a not-so-proud member of the BGH debate team. Since his first year of middle school, the redhead had dreamed of being a part of the debate team. How nice it would be to voice your opinions, and how nice it would be to have peaceful discussions with each other! It must be heaven!

  
Honestly, it was more like hell. Though, it hadn't always been a pile of garbage. When Simmons joined his freshman year, the team wasn't doing so well. The only members of the group were Sarge, the rowdy and fearless leader, and Donut, his trusty and slightly annoying companion. The first time Simmons walked into that unused English room, the two of them were printing flyers and sign-up sheets to recruit new members.

  
"If you guys are doing so poorly, why hasn't the school shut you down yet?" Simmons had asked.

  
"Well," Donut had replied, leaning casually against the classroom's whiteboard. "We told the office that we would get new members within a few weeks."

  
"We got ourselves one new member, which is great, but it's not enough! We need more!" Sarge had said in his booming voice. He was the type of guy that probably had no idea what an inside voice was.

  
And so, Simmons whole-heartedly agreed to help find new debate team members, which might have been the single worst decision of his life. It was almost as bad as the time he decided to walk into the girls' locker room looking for the teacher - while it was in use, mind you. He had never been good at talking to girls and that experience just made it worse for him.

  
Back to the debate team thing, Simmons had planned to search the school for smart, cool, and rad people like himself for the team. But the cruel wind of reality blew over him and gifted him with a bunch of stupid assholes. On a slightly positive note, the team now had six members, which equally divided into two teams. The teams were oh so cleverly named "Red" and "Blue", courtesy of Sarge.

However, it didn't make up for the fact that nobody fucking did anything at the meets. They did everything but debate, if that's even possible.

  
As Simmons approached the club room, the amount of noise coming from inside already told him they weren't going to get anything done today. Again. He didn't so much as enter the doorway before a wave of outbursts hit him right in the face... er, ears?

  
"There you are, Simmons! Why are you late?" Sarge.

  
"Hey, Simmons! Glad you could make it!" Donut.

  
"Look, it's Simon!" Caboose.

  
"It's Simmons, you fucking idiot." Church.

  
"Man, it's about time!" Tucker.

  
With a forced chuckle, Simmons took baby steps into the room and toddled towards his usual spot in the front window seat. "Yeah, haha, hey guys." He specifically sat by the window because everyone else sat on the other side of the room. Not because he liked looking out the window and dreaming of spending his after school hours elsewhere. Not at all. The others just weren't people he liked to hang out with. That's all.

  
Now that everyone was present, Sarge cleared his throat, straightened his posture, and marched to the front of the room. "Finally, we can begin today's activities!" He really was more like a drill sergeant than a high school senior, in both physical and mental qualities. He was tall, towering over everyone but Caboose, and incredibly fit. His arms and legs were all muscle, and although Simmons had never seen him shirtless he assumed his leader probably had a six pack going on. His loud and coarse voice and overal demeanor made him seem at least ten years older than he actually was. Sarge was a bit of a bother at times, but Simmons kind of looked up to him. He was almost like a father he never had.

  
"Do our 'activites' include doing nothing for two hours? 'Cus that's what we do every week." Church mumbled, rolling his eyes. His loyal steed Caboose was next to him in a desk he pushed next to his buddy's.

  
Tucker, with his feet propped up on his desk and obviously chewing gum, exclaimed, "I know! Our topic this week can be why this club fuckin' sucks!"

  
Simmons glared at the blue team, wondering how they could possibly be so mean to their group captain. Then again, he didn't really blame them, because the club  _did_  kind of suck, and they  _did_  usually do nothing for two hours. But still, surely there was a nicer way to go about it?

  
Suddenly he remembered Grif, the asshat in his science class that screamed all kinds of no. He had invited him to come to their meet today... Why did he do that!? Simmons felt embarrassed for his past self of a few hours before. That fat, lazy bastard probably thought Simmons was just some lame nerd that was ruining whatever reputation he had. Besides, there's no way that he was actually going to show up, right? Probably not. Grif definitely didn't seem like a guy that would waste time checking out a debate team that did nothing. Wasn't he friends with Church? Surely Church would have warned Grif not to come.

  
Simmons' train of thought was derailed by Sarge chewing out the blues. "An attitude like that will get you kicked right out of here!" He bellowed.

  
Church obviously didn't give a fuck, and waved his hand ignorantly at the leader. "Shove your big army boots up my ass for all I care!"

  
"Church, please stop yelling..." Caboose whispered loudly. The big guy thought he was a master at being quiet, but he really wasn't.

  
"I'm not yelling, you're yelling!" retorted Church, whipping his head to shout at Caboose's face. Simmons was sure that guy was gonna bust a vein in rage one day.

  
"No, I'm pretty sure you're yelling..."

  
"Shut the fuck up!"

  
And once again, the room erupted in chaos, which included yelling, cursing, and plenty of obscene gestures. Donut tried to calm the group down with words of encouragement, but obviously it didn't work and only added to the noise.

  
Simmons sighed and laid his head on his desk, desperately wishing to go home and finish his homework, although he knew that wasn't going to happen. This was a regular occurrence at the Blood Gulch High debate team, always had been, and most likely always will be. Why did anyone bother coming, honestly?

  
The calamity was interrupted by a ground-shaking pounding coming from the other side of the wall, followed by another loud voice. "Hey, ladies! Quit bitching over there before I break someone's neck!" It was none other than Tex, member of the student council that met next door. She was also Church's ex-girlfriend-now-weird-rival-friend, but that's a story for another chapter. What's important right now is that Tex was very well known for kicking asses.

  
Already pissed off, Church stormed to the front of the room and banged back on the wall. "You quit bitching, bitch!" Donut approached and urged him to stop and lower his voice, but only got shooed away with a death-inducing glare.

  
Tex's voice came again, but this time with a more threatening tone to it. "I'll seriously come over there!"

  
"Haha!" Church cackled, though he was visibly shaking and clenching his fists. "Fucking try it! Bring all of your nerdy ass student council buddies with you!" With that, the sound of chairs shuffling and scooting back was heard, and Church froze. "Actually, you know, I have shit to do right now! Bye!" He scurried away from the wall and back to his seat.

  
"Boo!" shouted Tucker, making a thumbs down motion with his hand. In return he received a middle finger pointed in his general direction.

  
At this point, Simmons was trying desperately to resist the urge to bang his head on his desk. Maybe he would pass out, or get a concussion, or get brain damage. Anything was probably better than this. Why couldn't something, anything, come and save him from this hell?!

  
And, as if on cue, an awfully familiar voice came from the doorway, causing a sudden silence to flood the room. "Uh, excuse me?"

  
Simmons felt his eyes widen in disbelief as he slowly lifted his head and matched the voice to a face. No way. No fucking way. Leaning smugly against the door frame with untidy, curled black hair and wearing clothes that probably haven't been washed in a few days was Grif. "Am I interrupting something?"

  
Everyone in the room stared at the Hawaiian man before them, and then at each other. All of them were thinking the exact same thing:  _Hello? Are you in the wrong class? Do you need directions to another club room? A better club room?_

  
But nobody said a word, and a slightly confused Grif broke the stunned silence. "This is the debate team, right?" His eyes scavenged the room, briefly glancing at Church before moving them and letting his gaze fall on Simmons. He grinned and pointed his finger at the ginger. "Oh, yeah, this is definitely the right place. That guy is here."

  
Heat rose to Simmons' face as everyone in the room turned to face him. He couldn't believe Grif just called him out like that! Well, eventually they'd find out that he invited him anyway, but... Not like this! Now he had to explain more than he had intended. "Well, I just..." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Church covering his mouth in an attempt to hide his laughter, and Simmons mentally punched the asshole in the gut. "I just invited him here, okay? That's all..." He looked down, avoiding the stares of the others, muttering to himself. "I didn't think he would actually show up, though."

  
Then, Sarge stepped forward and let out a chuckle. "Aha! Nice job, Simmons! What a good guy!" He exclaimed, extending his hand to Grif. "Welcome to the debate team, uh... what was your name again?"

  
"Dexter Grif. But just call me Grif, okay?" Grif reluctantly took Sarge's hand and shook it, rolling his eyes to the side. "But don't think I'm part of your crew or anything just yet. I dunno if I'm staying for good. Probably not." He looked past Sarge and shot a smug grin at Simmons. "I couldn't turn down an offer from pretty boy over there."

  
No. God no. Simmons forced himself not to look at Grif as he deliberately embarrassed him in front of his teammates. Was he this cocky this morning? He had only known this guy for a few hours. Maybe he misunderstood him.

  
Yeah, Simmons thought, I really misunderstood him. He's way worse than I originally thought.

  
Grif strolled across the room and towards Simmons, casually taking a seat in the desk behind him. "So, let's have fun for now, okay? I'm missing Half-Price Happy Hour for this."

  
Seriously, what the hell was this guy's problem? And what did he mean by 'pretty boy'?

* * *

The rest of the meet went back to being uneventful.

  
As was part of the tradition (that Donut declared was a tradition that very day), everyone in the group introduced themselves like it was the first day of middle school. Whatever. At least they didn't have to make a circle and pass around a stuffed bear.

  
Sarge started, stating his name and grade. He talked about how after high school he wanted to join the military, and if that failed, he was going to go home to his family's farm and work there. It might seem like it was some inspirational tale, but it was really boring.

  
Next was Donut, and he didn't say anything that anyone didn't know. His name is Franklin Delano Donut. He's a junior. His interests include interior decorating, cooking, fashion, sewing, and just about any other feminine hobby you can think of. The end.

  
Church came next. He's Leonard L. Church. He's a junior and he hates everyone. And uh, yeah. Next.

  
Michael J. Caboose, also a junior, is extremely interested in being Church's friend and puppies. Also kittens. And rabbits.

  
Lavernius Tucker, wondering why the fuck they're stating their grades when everyone but Sarge is a junior, is a self-proclaimed lover and chic magnet. 'Self-proclaimed' is a key word there.

  
Now it was Simmons' turn to spew some words. He sighed and twiddled his fingers on his desk. "I'm Simmons. Dick Simmons." He coughed, knowing how high schoolers were with his first name, and heard the quiet laugh of Grif behind him. "...Anyway. I'm a junior, obviously. I like science a lot. And math. I guess that's all I have to say."

 

All Grif said was his name, grade, and how he almost fell asleep listening to everyone talk. Well, it was probably to be expected, honestly.

  
After the awkward introductions, everyone threw around potential debate topics, most of which were tossed aside with, "That's a dumbass idea!" Simmons actually had some good ideas that weren't some stupid shit like "Why Coca-Cola is better than Pepsi", but the only people who even cared about them were Sarge and Donut, so he saw no point in even talking. It's not like they'd actually debate anytime soon.

  
Then, finally, after two hours of almost nonstop bickering, the meet was over. The sun was just barely starting to set, and the sky would no doubt be shades of orange by the time Simmons got home. He got up from his seat and stretched, flinching in surprise when a hand touches his shoulder. He spun around to see Grif yawning and scratching his sides. "So... what did you think? Hm?" Simmons managed to ask.  
But Grif just shrugged. "Well. It was interesting, I suppose." He walked past Simmons and towards the door. "Anyway, I gotta go. Don't wanna spend anymore unnecessary time at school. See you tomorrow, pretty boy."

And then he was gone, and Simmons was alone. Tucker had left with Wash to do some tutoring or whatever, Church and Caboose always walked home together, Sarge took the public bus and Donut bicycled. Simmons always just walked home by himself. Oh well.

  
...But seriously, 'pretty boy'??

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be by Emma, focusing around Church and Caboose!


	3. Aggravation, Among Other Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Three, featuring...  
> Wash having undecided emotions towards Tucker!  
> Church and Caboose talking about some serious shit!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: This chapter hints at past child abuse and alcoholism.**
> 
>  
> 
> Our apologies for the short chapter. The next will probably be a little longer!

Wash had learned a lot about everyone's music tastes. Maine loved musicals (amazing. Fuckin' musicals), Tex liked 80's rock, Carolina liked anything by female musicians, York unabashedly loved pop, the Dakota twins had a thing for punk, CT liked folk rock, and Wyoming liked country, of all things. He knew that Sarge only listened to patriotic hymns, and that Church only listened to rap, and Donut only listened to Beyoncé-esque anthem pop (his words). Simmons had techno, and Grif apparently had Nicki Minaj.

But Tucker. He only listened to fucking club music. And it was torture to drive him anywhere. Wash was one of the only people on the debate team to have a car. He didn't drive it always, sometimes preferring to ride in Maine's rusty truck. But, he drove it to school a lot. He lived for his car. It was his actual life. Completely.

And Tucker had his feet on the dash, while he sang along to some song that forced scenes of strangers grinding in the dark upon one's mind.

Fuck. How'd he get here? No. He knew how. Why? God, why. 

He guessed his life began to fold at lunch that day.

Tucker'd been pestering him, as usual. Asking and asking about 'soccer training' and how he really needed Wash because Wyoming and York are the only other players he knows and they're 'intimidating'. Why Wash isn't intimidating to Tucker, he doesn't know. He also doesn't know how Tucker managed to find out about his failing biology grades.

He guessed that's why he accepted his offer. He wanted to know more about Tucker. He wanted to know what made Tucker tick. 

But. Training, from Wash, at least, was torture. And not the good kind. He might end up breaking Tucker.  He wondered what Tucker looked like when he was broken....

No. His mind wasn't gonna go there right now.

So yeah. The rest of the day had been pretty usual. The council meeting had still been just as crazy and productive. 

In the small, cramped geography room, the student council met (showed up) and discussed (argued) how to make the school better. After Tex telling the debate team to shut up like she always did, they usually just ended up with one thing they didn't like and left it up to Carolina to fix it. Which she always did.

Then, once that was over, they all went out to the parking lot together, then went their separate ways. Connie got in one of the chess teams cars (The 'Insurrections' chess team).  Tex got on her motorcycle, as did Carolina (on her own cycle, of course, with York snuggling up to her on it). North and South both got in their little family shared van, Maine got in his hugeass truck, Florida and Wyoming disappeared mysteriously. All normal.

Except that Tucker was waiting for Wash. To get in his car. And ride with him to his house. So he could help him with biology. So that tomorrow Wash would start soccer training with. Tucker. With Tucker. And then the feet on the dashboard and the 'DJ JJ JONES' music. 

Jesus Christ. What had Wash gotten himself into.

* * *

"Church! Let's walk home together." Caboose suggested with a smile. 

Church shrugged, deciding not to tell Caboose that they had to anyway. They walked together everyday. He had accepted it a long time ago as a part of his life that couldn't be avoided.

So the most unlikely of pairs started their usual walk home, through the hot desert sun and dust. They started down the sidewalk that went straight from the school to their respective house (the Church family) and apartment (Caboose). Caboose's weird blue tennis shoe slipper things caught all the dust and slowly turned tan, as usual. Church guessed he washed them once he got home, because they came in blue again the next day. His own light blue converse had turned a permanent tan a while back. 

As they left the school parking lot, they saw Tucker hop into Wash's car, with Wash looking very tense. 

Church chuckled. So Wash had finally broke. Now all he had to do was wait until they fucked, and see if he could win the bet he had going with Carolina. He had twenty bucks placed on those fucks.

Church kept walking, a little behind Caboose (who had been talking nonsense for a while), and he saw York climb on Carolina's bike, and then they whizzed away. Church sighed. He really wanted a goddamn car. It would make the trip home easy.

He decided to tune into Caboose's ramblings. He was talking about 'the Incident' again. 

"So Church I was thinking about that funny mascot again and do you think he'll ever come back-"

"No. Not ever." Church tensely said. 

God, he'll always regret that night. Always. And why did Caboose like h- the mascot- so much? He'd acted like an asshole, and with good reason. Whatever. It's not like anyone knew what had happened. Except for Tucker, who'd seen him- no. Don't think about it. 

They continued down the road, getting dust and pebbles all up in their shit. When they came to the main street with all the stores on it, Caboose had moved onto things he liked, which was a favorite subject with him. He was just listing them, like he always did.

"Kittens, soda, the sky, my best friend- that's you-" And it went on. 

Church didn't know how he and Caboose had become friends. It just happened. Caboose had started at BGH halfway through the first semester of the year before, he recalled as they walked past the one convenient store, which sold everything from computers to headlight fluid. He just came in one day, no one knowing who he was or how infamous he would become. No one even knew where he'd come from. He never talked about stuff before Blood Gulch with anybody but Church, and in turn Church didn't like talking about it. 

On that first day, Caboose had seen Church and decided that he would become his best friend. It was simple to him,  Church guessed. It never answered anything about Caboose though. 

Church glanced at Caboose, who was smiling and still talking. He wondered if Caboose would answer Church truthfully if he asked about his past. He wondered if Caboose even knew how to lie. He didn't think so. But, then again, what right did he have to ask?

...Well, he was considered (by Caboose) to be Caboose's best friend. That was something.

"Caboose." Church started.

"Yes?" Caboose looked at Church immediately, almost surprised that he said something.

"...Where did you live? Before you came to Blood Gulch." Church asked, trying to be somewhat polite.

"With my mom." Caboose said with a small smile. "I had to leave though."

"Why?" Church asked. This was the first he'd heard of his parents.

"I don't know. I had to leave. These people told me to, but I didn't want to go. They made me. They also made me go to Sheila." Caboose smiled wide. He loved Sheila, the nice lady he saw every week. They talked about all kinds of things together, like feelings and other stuff!

Church was now very concerned. He knew that Sheila was Caboose's fuckin' shrink. And these 'people' made him leave his mom? What? Why hadn't he heard any of this from him before?  

"Caboose. Why'd they make you leave?" Church asked.

"I dunno. They told me it was because of how I hurt my head."

Church stopped walking. "Hurt your head? What?"

Caboose stopped too. "Yeah. I lived in a house, with a living room and that living room had a coffee table in it. Like most living rooms. One day, my mom and I were playing, and I fell into the table and hit my head. My mom called the hospital I think, 'cus when I woke up I was there, and they told me I wasn't allowed to go back to my mom because she'd pushed me!" 

Caboose suddenly became angry, which never, ever happened unless Church had asked him to. His fists were clenched by his sides and he had a pained look in his eyes. Something wasn't right. "She didn't push me, she wouldn't! My mom loved me and wanted me safe. Those meanies called her a big word a lot- Al Caponic or something- and said she only kept me 'cus she was using my dad's checks he sent us for support, or something like that! They made me leave her. And I hate them."

Caboose stopped talking, and took in a big breath. He held it in for a few seconds, and then let the air out, smiling as if nothing had happened. "Except for Sheila. I love Sheila."

Church gulped. He hadn't expected that. Suddenly, he found himself more intrigued with Caboose than ever before. This kid has gone through some serious shit, and he just acted like it didn't bother him at all!

The rest of the walk home was mostly silent.

* * *

Wash unlocked the door to his house with a click and a hard push on the front door, which stuck a lot. His house was nice. Very old, and full of memories that Wash would rather forget, but the house itself was in good shape. 

He heard Tucker follow him in, humming a Katy Perry song as he did. 

"So, leave my shoes by the front door, or no?" Tucker asked casually. 

Wash looked at him incredulously. "Keep them on or leave. I don't need your foot smell all over my house."

Tucker smiled tightly and walked into Wash's living room without another word.

This was gonna be a long study session.


	4. Bothersome

"Dude, no. Do you even pay attention in class?" Tucker asked as he scanned over Wash's biology homework, shaking his head in disapproval. It was still hard to believe that he was tutoring a senior for biology, of all things.

  
Wash's head was turned away, irritated and twirling his pencil between his fingers. To him, it wasn't as much of a tutoring session as it was Tucker ridiculing his intelligence. "I try. Science has never been my forte, you know." He points out, as if it weren't obvious enough already. Stuff like math and english came easily to him, but biology? Chemistry? No way.

  
Tucker scoffed, marking the incorrect answers with a pencil and sliding the paper back to Wash. "Yeah, well there were tons of hot chics in my biology class and I got by just fine." He rolled his eyes, and Wash sighed in frustration, which only pushed Tucker further. "And why the hell did you wait until your senior year to take this class? I took it two fucking years ago."

  
With a growl, Wash snatched his eraser from the table and began erasing his mistakes. "I'm so fucking sorry I'm not as smart and talented as you, Lavernius." He drew out his tutor's name in annoyance and forcefully set down the eraser, rereading the questions on the paper.

  
"Whatever, man." Tucker crossed his arms and got up from his chair, wandering into the kitchen, probably for another Coke. Wash didn't look up or even acknowledge that he had left the room.  
It was Friday night, and the following Monday would be Tucker's first training session with Wash. Since Tucker was giving him hell now, Wash decided that he'd return the favor on Monday. Again, the scarily pleasant image of breaking him entered Wash's mind, and he didn't mean break as in crushing his bones or something. It was more like, Tucker finally giving in and listening to him and not complaining for once. It was a far shot, but just the thought filled Wash with utter satisfaction.

  
Wash couldn't help but glance at Tucker as he walked back to the dining room table, holding a can of Coke that said "Share a Coke with Emma". He just couldn't wait to get his revenge.  
Tucker took a sip of his drink and sat down in his chair, catching the older man's eye. "Dude, quit staring. I know I'm hot and all, but that paper isn't going to finish itself."

  
"Right. Sorry." Wash took his pencil and scrawled an answer that probably wasn't right.

 

* * *

  
Ah, yes, the Blood Gulch Mall. The number-one hang out spot for most of the desert town's teen population. It was a decent sized mall, too, for being in the middle of nowhere. It had a food court, most big-name department stores you only find in malls, and even one of those trains that drives people around the mall.

  
And of course, who could forget the tiny local shops that sat wedged in corners? Just about everyone, apparently, and it wasn't good for Simmons' paycheck.

  
It was a Saturday afternoon, and while it was the busiest day of the week for the rest of the mall, the bookstore Simmons worked at was empty, save for a mother and her two young children. The store was owned by a kind, middle-aged woman who gladly gave Simmons the job when he applied, and sat inbetween two of the most popular shops in the mall. You'd think it would attract more business, but it didn't.

  
While Simmons did enjoy being surrounded by silence and books for 3-8 hours, it was a little boring just sitting there. Customers came and went, and Simmons had never seen more than 5 people in the shop at once. Not even when that shitty new novel by that shitty YA author came out.

  
Whatever. The pay might be low, but Simmons was just glad to get paid at all. He preferred working here than at a fast-food place full of grease and whining customers. While the two kids in the shop browsed the children's section, Simmons went back to reading his own book, a new sci-fi novel about a futuristic civil war. He was just getting to the good part, too.

  
Eventually the mom approached the register, holding a few picture books and a romance novel. Simmons went about the procedure as he usually did.

  
"Did you find everything okay?" Rang up the kids' books.

  
"Hey, I heard this book is really good!" Rang up the novel, which he had never read.

  
"Your total today is--" His flawless checkout procedure was interrupted when someone walked into the shop. Someone he really was not expecting to see. Someone who happened to be a Hawaiian fatass.  
Simmons glared at the guy, who caught his gaze and merely winked at him. Really..!? Simmons scoffed and turned back to his customer. "Your total is $20.25." The woman paid with a credit card, and as she left with her kids, Grif put down the book he was pretending to be looking at and approached the register.

  
"What the hell are you doing here?" Simmons asked after making sure the family was out of sight. The shop was empty for now, so he could say whatever he wanted.

  
Grif rested his elbows on the table, sighing loudly. "Damn, and here I thought you'd be happy to see me." He said sarcastically, but Simmons could have sworn there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. "Anyway, a friend of mine told me you worked here, so I thought I'd stop by."

  
"Friend? Who--" Oh. Right. Simmons forgot that Church worked at the Starbucks in the mall. He frequently went there on his break and must have told him where he worked at some point. God dammit, Church.

"Oh, yeah. That guy."

  
A chuckle emitted from Grif, and his shoulders bounced as he did so. "Haha, you don't sound too thrilled talking about him. Me either."

  
Simmons looked away, pretending to do something on his work computer. "So, why are you at the mall anyway? You don't strike me as someone who'd spend their Saturday afternoon at a place like this."

  
"What? Dude, I work here."

  
"You.. what?" That took Simmons by surprise. Grif worked? Grif worked at the mall? He found himself glaring in disbelief at the tan boy. "You have a job?"

  
"Yeah? I gotta pay for my car somehow."

  
"You have a car?"

  
Grif rolled his eyes. "Now you're just being annoying. Yes, I have a car, unlike a certain someone who probably never even got his learner's permit." He punctuated his sentence with that familiar, lopsided grin.

  
Simmons was appalled at his accusations. "Wha..? That's not true! I got my permit when I was 15!" However, he decided to not talk about how he hit a squirrel his first time driving and hasn't touched a steering wheel ever since.

  
"Whatever." Grif said with a sigh. "So yeah, I work at Spencer's."

  
"You work at Spencer's?" Simmons repeated, and realization struck him in the face. "Wait a minute, are you 18? Were you held back a year?" It was totally possible and, honestly, wouldn't be surprising at all.

  
Now it was Grif's turn to look offended. "Wow, do you really think I'm that dumb? Man, Simmons, I thought you were better than that." He stood back and crossed his arms. "No, I'm 17, and no, I've never gotten held back. There are things called fake I.D's, Simmons."

  
"Do you realize how much trouble you could get in if you got caught!?" The ginger spoke in a loud whisper, as if the police were going to march into the store any minute and drag Grif's fat ass to jail.

  
Grif just shrugged. "I guess the important thing is that nobody has found out. Except the people I've told, and they don't give a fuck." He eyed Simmons suspiciously. "Hopefully, you don't give a fuck, either."

  
Simmons opened his mouth to retort, but stopped. Did he really give a fuck about what Grif was doing? He was just some guy that ended up being his science partner. Some guy that stumbled into the debate team room just to fuck with him. Some guy that ate oreos at every meal and always looks like he just got out of bed.

  
Honestly, why should he give a fuck what he does?

  
"No. As a matter of fact, Grif, I don't give a fuck. You can do whatever the hell you want." Simmons said, fingers gripping the countertop. He wasn't about to start babysitting this guy, and if he gets in trouble, it'll be his own damn problem.

  
Grif grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that." He glanced at the clock behind Simmons, swiftly changing the subject. "So, what time's your shift over?"

  
"At four. Why?"

  
"I get off at 4:15, - I'm on break right now - but if you wait for me, I can give you a ride home if you want." The shorter man looked Simmons in the eye. "This is a one-time offer. It's one day you won't have to ride the bus. Limited time only!"

  
"Wait, how did you know I ride the bus?"

  
"Church."

  
"God dammit!" Simmons slammed his fists on the counter in frustration. He could never tell Church anything ever again! Grif's offer was stupid, anyway. The image of a trashy 1995 car with piles of garbage inside filled Simmons' head. "I bet your car isn't any better than the bus. It probably stinks."

  
"Uh, no, I use air fresheners, dude. You know, the ones that are like yellow trees? Vanilla?" Grif raised his hand above his head and wiggled his fingers, apparently signifying the yellow trees.

  
Finally, Simmons sighed, and his head lowered as he did so, like a deflating balloon. "Okay, I'll think about it, I guess." His head slowly came back up to Grif's level. "And quit wasting your break time pestering me. Go get one of those giant pretzels or something." He waved his hand briefly in a shooing motion.

  
"Hm... Well I did have one of those already today..." Grif said, his eyes wandering to the ceiling in thought. "I guess one more wouldn't hurt--"

  
"Just get out!" Simmons yelled, pointing towards the exit. At that, Grif turned and strided out of the store, mumbling stubbornly about Simmons being a bitch.

  
With the tanned boy finally gone, Simmons took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, recomposing himself. That guy was such a pain in the ass, all the time! How was anyone able to stand him?

  
Even so... Simmons couldn't help but think about Grif's offer. A day without riding the bus would be nice...

 

* * *

  
At 4:15, Grif's shift was over (thank God), and he stretched and yawned as he walked out of Spencer's, his backpack on his back. He did work in a cool store but man, was it boring as fuck. All he ever did was help people check out and watch as teenage girls giggled at the sex toys in the back. Not very entertaining. But, whatever. He got money for it, and money means being able to support him and Kai.

  
The mall was still pretty crowded, which wasn't at all unusual for a Saturday. Grif walked by a Build-A-Bear Workshop, walked by Forever 21, and he suddenly remembered his conversation with Simmons earlier. He was only a little less than half certain that the ginger would actually wait for him, but hey, he could dream.

  
He was lucky that Spencer's was fairly close to an exit, because he was honestly too fucking tired to walk very far. He couldn't wait to finally sit down.

  
Grif made his way outside, shuffling past a few teenagers, and was pleasantly surprised at who he saw standing by the curb.

  
"So, you actually showed up?" He called out to Simmons, coming up beside him. He must have startled the guy, because Simmons quietly gasped and looked up from his cellphone.

  
"Oh. Yeah, hey." Simmons slipped his phone into his pocket, keeping his hand in there. He looked embarrassed, even a little bit ashamed to be standing there with Grif, his hands in his pockets as he avoided the Hawaiian's gaze.

  
Grif just grinned, and began walking into the street, beckoning to the red head with his hand. "Well, come on then, you look like a fucking statue standing there."

  
And, hey, maybe sometimes dreams do come true.

 


	5. Smoke and Mirrors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit happens, cigarettes are shared, and many people run.

Church was tense. Very tense. 

He glanced over at Caboose, who was sitting in happy silence, as he always did during Geometry. He had no idea what anyone was talking about. Sometimes Church wondered how he'd gotten this far in school. 

The teacher droned on about proofs and shapes, giving Church the perfect background noise to finally contemplate what Caboose had told him last week. 

He had live with his mom, who was 'Al Caponic', or most likely alcoholic. She had used his absent father's child support checks, sent for Caboose, for her own use. And had pushed him into a coffee table. 

He'd had to go to the hospital. Caboose. The most harmless gigantic idiot Church had ever met. 

He had never met this bitch, but if he did, he'd knock her face in. 

Church glanced up at the board, and quickly copied down all the notes the teacher had put up. He felt a stinging in his palm, and notice that he had crescent shaped nail marks imprinted in it. 

He'd been clenching his fist. It was sweaty, and he'd been clenching it. 

Well, that was ok. Caboose was his friend. He took care of his friends. Yep. 

His phone then chose that moment to snap him out of his thoughts and jiggle in his pocket. 

He flicked his eyes up at the teacher. She hadn't noticed. Stealthily, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and clicked it open. 

A text, from Tucker:

'hey r u gon puke on st jimmy cus u look red and sick'

His phone made a swooping sound and loaded another text, from Tucker:

'u thinkin bout sex?'

Church glared at Tucker. Tucker waggled his eyebrows at him, smirking. He quickly typed an appropriately angered reply and then the phone slipped through his fingers and made a loud sound as it hit the faux-wood of his desk chair. 

Everyone in the class started, and automatically looked towards him. Everything froze except for the teachers hand, and everything was silent except for her marker. 

Alright, close call. Church would fucking asphyxiate himself if he lost his phone because he fucking dropped it while texting. 

Church subtly slid his phone into his bag. No more of that. He took a deep breath. 

Caboose's mom had most likely been abusive. Or a complete idiot. Probably both. And Caboose still had no idea the extent of what happened? Well, Church didn't either... Maybe he should stop digging up zombies that Caboose had obviously gotten over. Yeah, that would work. 

* * *

On a lovely Monday free period (or as lovely as you could get in a desert), two students gathered on a soccer field behind a school.

They had met up in the locker room, and gotten into suitable soccer uniforms ("Am I supposed to have a wedgie?" "Tucker, maybe you wouldn't have a wedgie if you wore normal underwear and not thongs."), each boy very carefully keeping their eyes away from the other one. Except for that one slip up. ("It's not a  thongs! It's a jock strap." "Like that makes things anymore heterosexual.").

Soon, they were out in the almost midday heat, ready to begin Tucker's first Soccer Training and Discipline Sessions. Or STDS, for short. The name was Tucker's idea, and he'd refused to call it anything else. A school counselor had ended up pulling him aside and asking him if he needed to know where the nearest urologist was. 

Tucker had laughed, and Wash had only given him a tight smile when he'd told him. 

Tucker's new goal was to get Wash to laugh. He thought of ways to achieve this, jokes, puns, etc., as they got to the middle of the field.

The field was almost completely made of fake grass, seeing as the school was in a goddamn desert. This grass had caused many a player to get permanently green stained knees. People had graduate college with BGH field stains still on their knees. 

"Alright. So." Wash said loudly. He was so ready for this.

Tucker looked steadily at him, but winced a little at the sound of his voice. He wasn't so sure about this soccer thing anymore. Maybe it was the tight shorts, or the way Florida had leered at him as he walked through the locker room onto the field. Or the fact that Sarge had been the one to suggest the particular brand of fake (and most likely toxic) type of grass to use on the field to the faculty. 

Whatever. Couldn't back out of it now. He couldn't let Wash fail so horribly at such an easy subject.

"We'll start with some cardio. Let's see how many laps you can go without stopping." Wash said as he made a circle in the air with his finger. 

Tucker looked out at the expanse of the BGH soccer field. 

"No dude. Fuck that!" Tucker whined. Actually whined. What an asshole. 

"You signed up for this, Tucker. And anyway, you'll be fine if you try. I know that's pretty hard for you, but still." Wash stated blandly. 

Tucker sighed a long-suffering sigh. He walked towards the outside of the field. When he arrived at the painted white line, he looked back at Wash apprehensively.

Wash smiled happily. He was going to enjoy the hell out of this.

* * *

Simmons walked through the doors leading to the huge, smelly, gross gym. 

He scanned the metal benches and spotted a lone figure that looked like a person, but was so unmoving that it could have been a log with clothes on it.

But Simmons recognized the annoyingly white (annoying because it was so clean how did he keep it do clean?!) bookbag and started making his way towards his reluctant friend. 

It had been his turn to wake Church up, which was a monumental job. For one, Church changed his sleeping spot everyday, paranoid that Caboose might see a pattern. But, he really shouldn't worry about that. Caboose knew how Church liked his free period naps. And on that note, God bless the small mercies in life. 

So, Church nap duty involved finding him, an then waking him up, and also probably giving him a light so he could smoke a cigarette. 

Church would die young. It was inevitable, Simmons thought. And sad, since Church didn't really seem to care. 

He ended up next to the sleeping figure of his friend. He nudged Church with his shin, only receiving a groan. 

Simmons sighed. It seems like he'd have to do this the hard way, again. 

He squatted down, and started rummaging in Church's bag, looking for a certain pack of- there. 

Marlboros. Perfect.

Simmons opened the pack and plucked a cigarette out of the box easily with his deft fingers. 

Then he went rummaging in the bag again, looking for matches or a (probably) stolen lighter. 

His hands swept over a lighter with an engraving on it. He clutched dig and pulled it out. 

Shit. This was Carolina's lighter. York had 'given' it to her when they had first started doing... whatever they called their thing. 

Well. He needed a light. 

He flicked the top up and, after a few tries, sparked a flame. He held the cig up to the flame, them let it clamp shut. He then let the wavering smoke from the Marlboro float upwards. 

After a few seconds, Church began to stir. 

"Hmph. Gimme the cig, you dick." Church croaked, annoyed at being awoken but pleased by the smell of nicotine enhanced smokes. 

"Ha. Funny." said Dick Simmons. 

They sat in silence for a bit, Church watching his smoke circles floating up to the ceiling and dispersing and worrying about Caboose, Simmons worrying about literally everything else. Like if they were going to be late for class, or why Grif had offered a ride home from the mall (the ride had been stiflingly quiet, with the only sound being Nicki Minaj flowing from the stereos in Grif's admittedly, very nice, bright orange car), an why Simmons had taken him up on that offer, and why he caught Grif looking at him so often, and how-

The door to the gym opened quickly, and was slammed shut. 

"Fuck-" Church muttered, quickly throwing the cigarette away and brushing the ashes of if his t-shirt. He didn't need to be caught smoking in the goddamn gym, Christ. Especially since Carolina had just announced that she had received a scholarship. 

But, to Simmons' horror and Church relief, it was not a student, but an overweight Hawaiian. 

"I smelled Marlboros. Give me one and I won't snitch, bitch." He said quickly, like he was in a hurry to get one. 

"Oh, Jesus dude. You made me shit myself." Church said, letting out a breath. "Y- yeah, take a smoke, dude."

Grif sauntered over towards the pair. When he arrived, he quickly snatched up the cigarette that Church had been holding out for him. He then held it between his lips and began swiveling his eyes, searching for a light. 

"What are you gonna do, eat it?" Simmons sneered. He still had the upper hand, and the lighter in his pocket. 

"No. But if I find some salt, maybe I will." Grif shot back at him before jumping down the seats and leaving the gym. With an unlit cig still sitting on his lips. 

Simmons stared. Grif would get caught with that cigarette. Granted, with an unlit one, but still. And smoking on school property was an automatic expelling.

Simmons gave a shrug to nobody. Who gave a fuck. No one would miss him, he hadn't join any clubs-

Oh. Oh shit. 

Sarge would kill him if Red team was smaller than Blue team. He'd brutally murder Simmons if he ever found out that Simmons had let Grif get caught. 

Damnit. 

Simmons bolted out of the room after Grif. 

And Church sat there, waiting for Caboose to come find him when the bell rang. He always did. 

And anyway, Church decided, he had some questions that needed answers. 

* * *

Simmons rushed through the halls, glancing down corners and looking for a heavy colored dude or any sign of cigarette smoke. He couldn't see anything of the sort. 

He looked through the cafeteria, the music department and the library. There was nothing. And that only meant that he'd already been caught. 

Fuck. It was too late. 

The bell rang and Simmons walked to his next class, trying to convince himself that he wasn't looking for a mop of black hair in the crowded halls. 

* * *

Free period was finally over, thank god. 

Tucker trudged through the halls, already late but in too much pain to really care. Wash had pushed him so hard, and he had only barely gotten through. And then Wash had the audacity to ditch him the moment they exited the locker room! It was like Tucker was some goddamn glory hole.

"Just come and go Wash, just fuck me and leave." Tucker muttered sourly. 

He stank, too. Like he'd been running the track for an hour- oh wait. 

God. And they still had Debate team tonight. God. 

* * *

Simmons pushed the door to the courtyard open. He grimaced at the horrible smell of smoke. 

This courtyard was a pitiful example of a beautiful kind of yard. Trash strewn everywhere, the smell of shitty school food, an all around horrible place. But it was the only way Simmons could make it from band to English on time. 

He stopped in his tracks. The courtyard didn't usually smell like smoke. 

He looked behind the door. A smoking Hawiaan looked back and grinned. 

"Sup, pretty boy." Grif said, letting out a curl of smoke. 

Simmons followed the curl with his eyes, then took a glance at where it had come from. Grif's mouth was open a little. He had nice lips. They were stupid. 

Simmons snapped his eyes back up to Grif's. "I don't suppose you hanging around the courtyard means you were caught smoking. Or did the principal assign you this special spot?" he snarked, annoyed at himself and Grif and most of the world as we know it. 

"Ha. Funny. Don't worry, I wasn't caught. I knew how much of a goodie you are, and any trail leading from a smoking minor back to you would get your panties in a twist." Grif grinned bigger. "But don't you wanna know how I lit it?" 

Simmons paused. He hadn't thought about it. He kinda did but....

"...No. See you tonight." he said, then turned on his heel. 

"What's tonight?" Grif asked. 

Simmons tensed. That bitch hadn't remembered. God. He was going to write some very angry poetry on English. 

"Debate team. Debate team meets tonight." Simmons let out, then stormed from the courtyard. 

Grif pouted. He had wanted Simmons to turn around and see the matches he was holding in his palm. It would've been funny to see the look on his face. He was cute when he was mad.  Whatever, it wasn't like he'd actually forgotten the meet. 

Grif dropped the cig and stepped on it, the walked out the door, back inside the school of doom.


	6. Pre-Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Homecoming is quickly approaching, and...
> 
> “Now, as a way of showing our dedication and pride to the debate team, all of you are required to attend the dance next week!”
> 
> ...oh, fuck.

“There you go!” Exclaimed Frank DuFresne, the junior that assisted in the nurse’s office during his free period. He handed an ice pack off to a rather flustered freshman who’d gotten a nasty bruise in gym class. The freshman, a girl with a slight speech impediment likely due to the dentures in her mouth, was pretty embarrassed about falling in front of everyone, especially upperclassmen. But Frank just grabbed her by her shoulders, looked her right in the eyes, and told her that her freshman year would be full of embarrassments.

 

The girl looked truly inspired, and sat down in a chair with the ice pack pressed to her knee.

 

Ms. Grey, the young and bubbly school nurse, clapped her hands as Frank finished his pep talk. “Wonderful! You really are becoming a nice young man, Frank!” She swiveled back and forth in her office chair, smiling brightly.

 

“You say that every time I treat a patient, Ms. Grey.” Frank stated as he sat down beside her in his not-spinny chair.

 

“Only because it’s true!” Ms. Grey was always over-enthusiastic about everything, even things that weren’t meant to be taken lightly. She was in her early 20s, a bit on the taller side, and always had her dark hair up in a messy bun. All in all, she really was fit to be… not a school nurse, at the very least. She was very intelligent and knew what she was doing, but still, she always came off as a bit unsettling.

 

And Frank, who had volunteered to assist Ms. Grey in hopes to earn some medical experience before going off to college, had not at all anticipated someone so quirky to tutor him. Luckily, he was eager to learn, and Ms. Grey was quick to teach. He had learned an awful lot from her just by listening to her ramble when no one was being attended to. Frank didn’t have many friends, so it was also nice to just have someone to talk to. Even if their conversations sometimes involved Ms. Grey’s fascination with the mental states of others.

 

Today had been rather uneventful. Not that being a school nurse was supposed to be very eventful, but other than the freshie, nobody had stopped by. No one complaining that their stomach hurt, no one with a nosebleed, no one puking up their lunch. Just a poor girl and her injured knee.

 

Frank could do his homework. Or he could just relax. Ms. Grey was busy tapping away at her computer keyboard, she could take care of the girl. He shut his eyes and leaned forward in his chair…

 

“Ow, ow, ow!”

 

A loud voice interrupted Frank’s down time, and he quickly sat up and examined the source of the noise. A young man with spiky blonde hair and a scarred face limped into the nurse’s office, gripping his right arm with his left hand.

Frank hopped from his chair and approached the injured man. “What’s the problem?” He eyed his right arm, checking for any signs of blood.

 

“Someone - ow - someone threw a ball at me and it _really hurts!_ ” The guy exclaimed. “I mean, I’ve taken plenty of poundings before, but this one might take the cake!”

 

Trying to ignore the vaguely erotic-sounding comment, Frank told the injured man to remove the hand from his arm and examined the wound. His upper arm was red and slightly swollen, and a bruise was beginning to form. “Wow, they got you good,” He commented, stepping away from the man and towards the refrigerator beside the sink. “I’ll give you some ice to help reduce swelling, but that’s about all I can do for you.”

 

With a nod, the young man took a seat in a chair behind him, and Ms. Grey spun around in her chair to face him. “Hey, did the person who got you happen to be a Ms. Allison Texas?” She chimed.

 

“Yeah! She takes gym class way too seriously!” The guy said, obviously a little ticked off. “I mean, maybe she doesn’t mean to since she’s super strong and all, but still..”

 

“Mm, yeah, she’s been causing lots of injuries lately! She’s also a part of the student council so it won’t be good for her if she keeps it up!” Ms. Grey said in her oddly cheerful voice, looking over the sign-in sheet for patients. “Maybe she’d be better in advanced P.E.”

 

“Or maybe Olympic weightlifting…” Frank muttered, sealing a plastic bag full of ice and wrapping a paper towel around it. He handed it to the man and walked back towards his seat behind the office desk. “So, what’s your name? I think I’ve seen you around but I’ve never caught it.”

 

“Franklin Donut. But you can call me Donut. Or Frankie!” Donut said with a friendly smile, pressing the ice pack against his arm.

 

Frank smiled, suddenly feeling a deeper connection with this stranger he just met. “Hey, what a coincidence! My name is Frank! Frank DuFresne.”

 

At that, Donut mouth turned into a large grin, and his eyes widened like an owl’s. “Really? Well, surely that’s gonna end up being confusing, so how about I just call you Doc?”

 

“Doc?” Frank echoed. “Where you get that from? I'm a nurse's assistant, not a doctor."

 

"Nurse, doctor, whatever. I just think it sounds cool! Now I can say, 'Hey, what's up, Doc?'"  
  


Frank had a feeling that he was going to get along great with Donut.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Listen up, team! The most important event of the school year is just around the corner!” shouted Sarge, gesturing to the whiteboard behind him which had “HOMECOMING!” written in large red letters on it. Indeed, Blood Gulch High’s annual homecoming dance was only a week and a half away.

“Not as important as, oh, I dunno, prom.” muttered Church, sitting in his usual spot in the back of the room, next to Caboose.

 

“Or exams,” added Simmons, who was sitting diagonal from Church and in front of Grif (who surprisingly showed up).

 

“Or puppies.” whispered Caboose.

 

“Quiet!” Sarge yelled. “Now, as a way of showing our dedication and pride to the debate team, all of you are required to attend the dance next week!”

 

Cue loud, distraught groaning from everyone in the room except Caboose, Donut, and his new friend Doc, who had absolutely been there the whole time.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me? I have better things to do than go to some stupid dance.” Church pouted, crossing his arms and looking away. Immediately, Caboose was in his face spouting all of the fun things they were going to do at the dance, like jump around and drink punch.

 

Simmons felt his stomach curl. The dance was two days before his huge Algebra II test, and he was planning on studying for most of the weekend. Now, not only did he have work that Saturday, but he also had to stand around the school gym with a red cup for 2 hours while shitty club music played. Fucking great.

 

He let out a long sigh and put his head on his desk, causing Grif to lean forward and perch his head on Simmons’ shoulder. “What’s up with you? Are you scared of a little dancing?”

 

“I doubt you wanna go, either.” Simmons mumbled into the desk.

 

Grif scoffed. “Believe me, I really don’t. But I think I can get some fun out of it, and by fun I mean a bunch of mildly drunk teenagers.”

 

That caught Simmons’ attention, and he raised his head from the desk with a horrified look on his face. “Wait.. You don’t mean…?”

 

“Oh, you know it, honey.” The grin on Grif’s face was unbelievably mischievous.

 

Simmons glared. “You can’t spike the punch! You’re going to get arrested if they catch you.”

 

Grif crossed his arms in a way that Simmons knew he was about to be given some dumb reason why  he was wrong. “Uh, that’s the thing - they’re not going to catch me. I get away with this kind of stuff all the time.” He looked around the room quickly, then leaned closer. “Remember last year when the dean’s house got egged on Halloween?”

 

“Yeah… Wait a minute, that was you?!” Simmons was genuinely surprised. This fatass didn’t seem like the type of guy that would go out and throw eggs at people’s houses. Well, maybe it’d be more believable if he wasn’t so goddamn lazy.

 

Grif chuckled and his shoulders bobbed. “Yeah! Oh man, it was great. Some freshman got blamed for it and man, you should’ve seen his face! His mom was so pissed!” He talked about it as if it were the greatest moment of his life. And honestly, with how disappointing this guy’s life seemed to be, it probably was.

 

“Where are you even going to get alcohol? You’re 17!” Simmons had so many questions and was almost positive that this time next month he’d be visiting Grif in jail. Actually, no, he wouldn’t. He would not visit him in jail, he’d send him a letter saying how fucking stupid he was for spiking the punch at the homecoming dance, and that he should have listened to Simmons. If only those howlers from Harry Potter were real, he’d absolutely send one of those. Then Grif could get yelled at and cry while getting beat up by his inmates.

 

“Oh, I’ll just get it from my sister. She goes to parties and stuff all the time.”

 

“...Isn’t your sister a year below us?” What kind of family was this..?!

 

“Yeah, but she looks a lot older than she really is. She brings all kinds of weird drinks home, I’m sure I can get something good from her.” Grif wasn’t at all bothered by it, but he shot Simmons a questioning look. “By the way, what happened to not caring about me? I thought that was a thing now.”

 

“Well… I just want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid. That’s all.”

 

“Sure, Simmons. Whatever you say.” Grif leaned back and closed his eyes, preparing to nap through whatever Sarge had to say next.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The debate team and student council released at the same time, like usual. The student council usually walked together until they got to the parking lot, but today Wash was falling behind the group. The rest were way ahead of him, chattering away about homecoming plans.

 

Caboose ran past him moments later, carrying Church in tow and shouting about the cool outfits they were going to get for the dance.  Grif and Simmons strided by shortly after, bickering about whether The Hunger Games was better as a book or a movie. Donut and Doc were talking about the obvious racism in The King and I movie . Sarge passed by but said nothing, proudly marching on.

 

Wash realized that only one person hadn’t passed him yet, and it was--

 

“Hey, Wash!”

 

\--Lavernius Tucker.

 

With a sigh, Wash stopped and turned around to see Tucker approaching him. He was wearing a black tanktop with some music group logo on it, and carrying the t-shirt he wore over it throughout the day to prevent dress code violations. “Oh. Hey.” He waited until Tucker caught up to him, and they began walking together.

 

“So, are you going to the dance?” Tucker asked, glancing up at the senior with the slightest hint of teasing in his eyes.

 

Wash shrugged. “Well, I wasn’t going to, but the rest of the council is kind of making me go.” They approached the door to the parking lot, and Wash pushed the door open, holding it for Tucker who followed closely behind. “I’m not a dancer, so I’ll probably just hang out for a while and then leave.”

 

“That’s kinda lame.” Tucker remarked as he pulled a pair of sunglasses from his pockets and slid them on his face. “I mean, who goes to a dance but doesn’t dance?”

 

“I do.”

 

“I could introduce you to my friends. The cool ones, not the debate team.”

 

“I don’t think I want to meet your friends.”

 

“Whatever, dude. Still lame.”

 

Like every day in Blood Gulch, it was fucking hot outside. No matter how long you lived there, the scorching heat of the sun was always enough to make someone sweat buckets. Especially now, when the sun was at it’s highest, as it reigned over everyone in town like a big “fuck you”. Wash didn’t seemed too bothered by it, but then again nothing seemed to bother him that much unless it directly involved him. On the other hand, Tucker was already panting and sweating just from walking.

 

They were halfway across the parking lot when Tucker suddenly froze. “Oh. Whoops.”

 

Wash slowed and turned around. “What’s wrong?”

 

“I forgot I don’t need to ride home with you today.”

That’s right. It wasn’t a tutoring day. Wash had just assumed it was because Tucker walked outside with him and… Well, whatever. “Do you have a ride home right now?” He asked, because the last of the debate team and student council were already driving away. “I can take you home if you want. I don’t care.”

 

But Tucker just laughed nervously and shook his head. “I can walk. It’s no big deal.”

 

“Tucker. Your house is pretty far from the school.”

 

“Really, I’m just getting more exercise, right? Isn’t that what you want me to do? Besides, the ladies love men who exercise.”

 

Wash rolled his eyes and unlocked his car as he drew closer to it. “Yeah, but ladies hate men who are sweaty and smell like feet. Just get in the car.”

 

Finally, Tucker admitted defeat and went around to the passenger side. “Fine, if you want me in your car so bad.”

 

“Shut up, or I’ll make you run extra laps tomorrow.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Nearly two weeks later, the long-awaited BGH Homecoming Dance had arrived, although it was a night Simmons had been dreading. Not only was he wasting his valuable study time at a dance, but his mom made him wear a really stupid outfit that made him look 12. Khaki pants, a white button-up shirt, a maroon and argyle patterned sweater vest, and a red tie. He didn’t get why his mom was so persistent on making him look nice - it’s not like he had a date or anything. Even worse, he just knew Grif was going to make fun of him when he saw him. Not that that would be anything new, though.

 

Simmons reluctantly got out of the car after saying goodbye to his mom, and approached the clusters of students waiting to be let inside. He scanned the crowd for people he knew, and quickly spotted Donut and Doc in their respectively pink and purple outfits that stood out from everyone else. Church and Caboose were a little to the left of them, Church wearing an unbuttoned flannel shirt over a white shirt and skinny jeans, and Caboose who wore a nice blue shirt tucked into some formal pants and a bowtie. Tucker was hanging out with some people Simmons didn’t know, and was only dressed slightly better than he usually was, with a black v-neck t-shirt and black jeans. Probably some Axe body spray too.

 

He didn’t see Grif, which worried him. If he really was going to spike the punch, Simmons was already expecting a bad evening. In a perfect world, Grif would not come to the dance (at least not with alcohol), it would be a normal, shitty dance. But this was not a perfect world. Not right now, anyway.

 

After a few minutes, the doors to the gymnasium opened, and the students filed inside. Simmons waited until the biggest part of the crowd diminished before going in. The distant sound of Billboard’s Top 40 became louder, and he prepared himself for a long and headache-inducing homecoming.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not updating in a while! hopefully we'll be better about updating now. a lot of shit happens in the next chapter, so get ready.


	7. Home Coming (Homecoming Part One)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time for Homecoming! What could possibly go wrong at a silly high school dance? (Hint: everything.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up, this chapter contains alcohol usage as well as mentions of past child abuse.
> 
> Both parts of this chapter were written by Emma. (<3)

Simmons walked into the gym, his stupid suit riding up his ass, his hair falling out of it’s place and into his eyes. But his eyes didn’t care. His eyes were actually moving frantically, flitting towards every dark corner (oh hey, there’s Church and Caboose.) (...What are they doing in a corner?), towards every grinding couple (who knew that the grinding would start so early in the evening??), trying to catch a glimpse of Grif. It’s not like he wanted to see Grif, but he now had the knowledge of what Grif was aiming to do, and therefore had the responsibility to stop him from doing anything stupid. Like spiking the punch.

He slowly started to walk the perimeter of the gym, looking for the black and matted mop of hair that would signal the need for action. If he didn’t find him, then he could enjoy himself.

And anyway, who said that Grif was actually going to come? He probably hated parties that were like this, all chaperoned and PG.

The only reason he would come would be to turn this dance into an alcoholic rave. Yeah, that would be the only reason.

Yep. The only reason.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The only fucking reason that Grif was at this goddamn party was to spite the fucking ginger.

He was striding through the crowd that was still milling around on the grass outside the gym, with all the girls in their sparkly dresses and the boys in their stupid suits. Grif himself was in a t-shirt and jeans, because who cares.

He stopped in front of the gym doors, hesitating. This would be a very stupid move if he got caught.

He strode in, his head high and the flask that he filled with fruity drinks weighing his pocket down. He was gonna spike the damn punch, ruin the damn dance, and get out before that damn redhead saw him.

The minute he walked in the door, he searched for the refreshments table. It was across the room. He slowly threaded through the crowd of people that smelled like sweat and perfume, he was jostled around and spat out at the other end of the hall.

He saw the punch bowl. He walked towards the punch bowl. He reached for the ladle tah was leaning in it, and reached into his pocket.

He dumped the drinks in the huge-ass bowl, and stirred.

His job was done.

Grinning, he turned back towards the door, and his eyes met with Simmons’, who had seen it all, and whose face was as red as his hair.

...Shit.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Church was internally screaming.

Caboose was in a freaking corner, and was asking and asking him to dance with him. But he just wasn’t getting it.

Church did not want to dance. He did not want to do anything. He did not want to be here. He actually would rather watch his father jerk off than be here.

Because, you see, Church had been pretty offset by the fact that Caboose had revealed what must have been a very depressing childhood. Or, at least, would have been depressing for anyone other than Caboose.

He was taken away from his mom by Social Services. And he didn’t even seem to care.

“Church please will you dance with me? I will carry you home, so that you don’t get tired or anything.” Caboose pleaded, snapping Church out of his thoughts and staring down at Church’s smaller form with his watery blue eyes.

Church took pause and looked up at Caboose. He didn’t want to walk home. He was in nice clothes, and dust was everywhere thanks to the dryness of August.

“I won’t dance with you,” Church said, and then quickly continued when Caboose opened his mouth, “But I will get you some snacks.”

Caboose smiled, and Church felt grossly guilty at using him like that.

“And… you only have to carry me half of the way home.” he murmured as he walked away from Caboose and towards the table that was filled with a punch bowl, cups, and Chips Ahoy.

Well, Church felt even more shitty now. He was the worst person on Earth. Caboose was always helpful (in his own… special way), and always supported him, and he only upset Caboose and made him carry him home.

Church watched the ground as he shuffled his feet until he saw the white edge of the plastic table top. He lifted his eyes and saw that, on the opposite side of the table, Simmons was yelling at Grif, who had a smirk on his face.

He ignored them, because their arguments had mostly become normal ever since they had met in Science class and gotten a fucking B+ on their CO2 cars. Fuckers. They’d rigged the race.

Church grabbed two colorful paper cups and filled them both with the neon red punch. He then grabbed three cookies (all for Caboose, seeing as Church only liked ice cream when it came to sweet snacks).

On his way back to Caboose, Church took a huge gulp of what he considered his cup. He felt the familiar burning in his throat, and coughed.

Church stopped dead, and turned to look back towards Grif and Simmons. Simmons was now really close to Grif, still yelling and waving his arms at the punch bowl.

‘Well then.’ Church thought as he poured all of the punch in one cup.

‘No punch for Caboose.’

 

 

* * *

 

 

Wash began to shuffle towards the gym doors, keeping his breathing in check and glancing around to see if he could find someone he knew. Mostly everyone had gone inside the gym by the time that Wash had begun his pilgrimage inside. Tucker had leapt out of his car the minute they arrived and ran off to find his friends. And since Wash had yet to see anyone he knew and also wanted to talk to, he was a bit lost, and a bit anxious.

As he entered the annoyingly loud gymnasium, he started sweating. That was in part because of how fucking hot it was in there, also in part because he was alone in a room full of people. He scanned the crowd, searching for Carolina’s red hair or Maine’s huge silhouette, or even Tucker’s dreadlocks (which he had put into a ponytail to make himself look neater). He didn’t see anything, or anyone.

He slowly stalked around the perimeter, searching for a better view or a place to hide.

He felt horrible, like something huge was sitting on his chest. He was all alone in a crowd.

He roamed around, probably looking like a loser or a creep, and just… looking for a good hiding place, mostly.

As he leaned on the wall next to booming speaker, he saw some of the guys from the debate team standing with each other. Simmons was yelling at Grif, because they were both creatures of habit and probably got off on rage. Church was over next to Caboose, swaying a little while Caboose talked his head off. That was weird. Church didn’t sway to pop music. He really didn’t sway at all.

Well. Whatever.

Wash kept people watching, until he felt that he was floundering and bored. And hungry. He walked towards the table, and grabbed some cookies and a cup of punch, then quickly retreated back to his wall.

Wash blushed as he sipped from his drink, which was gross, bitter, and left a bad taste in his mouth, but it was school punch, so whatever. He knew that he was going to use the drink as a social crutch, just like his phone or his sarcasm, to make him feel less awkward and keep something between anyone that would want to talk to him. If anyone ever wanted to talk to him. Not likely. He wasn’t really a ‘party person’.

Well. He had been a party person. But that had been a while ago.

Wash’s lips tightened, and he downed his drink before getting up to refill his cup.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Simmons was gasping for air, leaning against a stone wall. After about ten minutes of yelling at Grif next to the alcoholic punch, he’d had enough. And he’d screamed about almost everything. He’d ended up just storming outside, away from the gym, away from all the people he saw take a drink from the punch, away from _Grif._

He slid down the wall, the brick scratching and pulling at his stupid shirt, and sat on the ground. He was hating the night so far, and it was only, like, 8:30.

He looked up, and in the sky held a bunch of twinkling lights. Like this whole scene was a fucking fairy tale. The only good things, really, about this town were the stars.

After he’d been trying to count the stars like the self-righteous shit he was, he’d realized that someone had come out and joined him on his leaning-wall.

He must have jumped a bit, but the guy only let out a huge breath of smoke. As Simmons saw the cigarette glowing in between dark-skinned, chubby fingers, he tensed and made a noise. An annoyed noise. Because it was Grif who had joined him.

Grif made a noise back at Simmons, but it was less annoyed and more mocking the noise that Simmons had made.

“Fuck you,” Simmons snapped back at Grif. Grif just laughed quietly and looked down at Simmons from where he was standing.

“Nah, fuck you.” Grif pushed up from his leaning position and dropped the cig on the grass. “I come here just to have a little fun, and you yell and scream at me about how I’m a horrible person, and how I’m ruining everyone else’s night. Well, now everyone is in there, laughing and dancing, and even though they might have headaches tomorrow, they’re gonna laugh about that one time they all got wasted at a high school dance.”

He stepped on the smoking remains of his cigarette and turned on his heel as if he was going to return to the party. But all he actually did was do a spin in time to the beat coming from inside and then sit down by Simmons.

He turned to look at Simmons, and Simmons could smell the smoke on his breath, and he stopped breathing just so he could keep glaring at Grif. He would sew his mouth together if only to intimidate Grif. He would kill a man, he would kill a cat, he would-

“Come inside, you little bitch.”

Simmons’s mind stopped in it’s vengeful tracks. Grif had. Asked him to come inside.

“What? Wait- what?” he stuttered.

“I said, that you’re a little bitch who should get his ass back inside this damn gym so that I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t want to kill yourself like the poor little Juliet you really are.” Grif spoke through his gritted teeth, staring straight ahead at the car lot in front of him.

They sat in silence for a minute, waiting for the other to speak, or do something. The silence was as stifling as smoke.

Grif suddenly rose and started back into the gym. Simmons quickly got up and followed him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Church?” Caboose worriedly asked Church, who was groaning and smiling stupidly at a pun that he had spoken almost half an- an hour? two hours? Well, it had been at least an hour ago.

They were sitting on the row of bleachers that lined one side of the gym, Caboose with his eyes stuck onto Church’s shrugging form.

Church was soooo drunk. He was hyper aware of some things, like how the bleachers were bruising his butt making his pants ride up his asscrack, and how goddamn close Caboose had leaned into him. Other things he wasn’t aware of, like what the people dancing in front of him looked like, or what song was playing, or what time it was, or how much of a distance there was from his face to the floor.

Oh. There wasn’t a distance from his face to the floor. At least, now there wasn’t. Church looked over the tan gym floor, scattered with a bunch of dixie cups that still held reddish residue and little crumbs.

Church closed his eyes. The floor was cool and had a weird texture, like there was drops of wet stuff scattered throughout crumbs of cookies. Weird.

But cookies. Yum. He’d brought Caboose a lot of cookies. He had to make excuses about going to get more punch. Caboose. Caboo...se. Caboose was whimpering and hovering over Church’s back. He was leaning on Church, like he had fallen on top of him.

“Caboose. Get off.” Church mumbled into the floor. But, with all his amazing amazement, Caboose quickly got off him and pulled Church into a kneeling position on the floor. Church looked down at his chest and saw that his shirt was covered in little red spots and that cookie crumbs had been pressed into the fabric in places.

Church giggled. He was gonna get whupped for ruining his nice clothes. Heh. He looked over at Caboose. Caboose was mostly in the same situation, but he had a huge red stain across his front instead of small ones. Church giggled again.

“Hey- hey Caboose- hey.” Church called to Caboose even though he was right in front of him, “Where’d that stain come from? Y’know- whoever washes your clothes is gonna be pissed.”

“Church, I wash my clothes, and I’m not angry at all,” Caboose said with a small smile starting on his worry-creased face.

“Ohhhh right,” Church mumbled. Then, louder, Church said matter-of-factly, “Caboose. your mom was a fuckup. Totes fucked.”

Caboose tensed immediately. He stared at Church. And Church, being the fuckup he is, kept going.

“Your mom was an alcoholic and took advantage of you… An’ I know that even though we only talked ‘bout it for like…. two minutes. And those two minutes reeeeeally fucked me up, dude. ‘Cus you’re always so happy and shit, I never thought you could have a childhood that even resembled what mine was… ehh.”

Church glanced up at Caboose to see him with deep creases on his brow, and his eyes looked so blue and far away.

“And I mean, the worst part is... you don’t even get it. ‘Cus you’re so innocent and can never see that someone you care about is a horrible…” Church stopped. He forgot what he had been talking about.

“Caboose… I jus’ want you to be happy.” Church mumbled as he fell back onto his face.

Caboose looked down at his form, laying pitifully on the floor. He then looked up, into the crowd. Everywhere, there were people with plastic cups in their hands, all laughing or crying or doing something they would regret.

And all Caboose thought was, _I do not think Church understands what I know._

And all Caboose said was “Church, I’m taking you home now.”

 

 


	8. Coming Home (Homecoming Part Two)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...Well, it looks like more can go wrong a high school dance than one might think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is **mildly NSFW.** I'll also say that there's **mild dubious consent** , just in case, though I don't think it's that bad. Also, alcohol is still used in this chapter.

Tucker was having a fucking _blast_ at this party. It turns out that someone had ended up spiking the punch, and literally everyone he knew was turning up and getting wasted. But, since he had a policy to only have a couple drinks so that he could watch other people make fools of themselves, he was all clear eyes and loud voice.

In the middle of the dance floor, with everyone grinding 100% all out, he was rapping along to the track that was playing (H.A.M. by Jay-Z) (A wasted student had hijacked the dj station). There was almost a hundred people out there with him, all yelling and just having a good time. The floor was always damp and sticky under his shoes because of all of the spilled punch. He had bruises blooming all over his chest and arms because of flying limbs, and Tucker hadn’t felt this _alive_ since… well, since he ran two miles in fifteen minutes. Thanks, Wash, but this was so much better.

“Bro- did you see that quiet senior? The one that’s on the student council? He’s fucking smashed, dude, it’s fucking amazing! He’s ‘breaking it down.’” Tucker heard a guy’s voice in his right ear, yelling like he was on the other side of the damn football field. Tucker smiled. Alive.

And then he turned back to the guy, and laughed at the look on his face, which was half smile, half nauseous. And then he looked over the guys shoulder, at the before-mentioned senior, and his breath caught in his throat as he saw-

As he _saw- black and blond hair, a suit way too dressy for a schools dance, his arms waving-_

“Wash?!”

David Washington was fucking dropping it on the dance floor. Arms waving, smile stuck on his face, legs a little wobbly.

And then Tucker realized that he was drunk as hell. Then he felt like laughing. and finally, he felt like punching someone in the face.

He kinda just stood and watched for a bit after that, unaware of everything around him and just focusing on the fact that Wash was making a fool of himself in front of everyone. He was now attempting to do what looked like a strange kind of twerking. It was not good.

Wash was really torn over whether to help his almost-friend from doing anymore damage or to get out his phone so that he could watch this later and laugh.

He decided that he would watch for a little longer, maybe post a vine of this, then help his friend.

But the, of course, Wash saw him.

“Heyyyyy Tuckerr! Hi!” Wash slurred as he stumbled over towards him.  He tripped and Tucker almost caught him but he didn’t want to put down his phone. Wash looked up at Tucker from the gross floor and smiled.

“I can feel the floor vibrate! It’s really loud in here!” Wash yelled up at him. Tucker sighed.

Wash was _giggling_ and his hair had half of a cookie and his nice clothes were creased and-

He needed someone to give them a ride. He couldn’t drive, and Wash was drunk, and someone had to get him home.

He scanned the room, looking over the heads of the people immediately around him who had just been laughing at Wash (assbutts). He caught sight of Carolina and York kinda- what was that, dancing? Well, he wasn’t going to ask them anyway. He saw Maine, then looked away, because Maine scared the shit out of him. Then he saw some white-blonde heads, bobbing to the beat of the music, and Tucker was off, dragging Wash onto his feet and striding through the circle of people that had gathered.

The crowd parted, because no one messed with a kinda distressed Tucker.

Never completely distressed, though. Tucker always kept his cool. Oh yeah.

He stopped when he was two feet away from the Dakota twins, and maybe Tucker got a tiny bit turned on by the light purple dress, the kind that hugged hips and had cuts so low you could see stars, that South was wearing. And then she saw Wash and laughed, like, really loudly and it was gone as fast as it had come. North looked hot and effortless, as always, and when he saw them his eyes grew concerned.

“Wash?”

“He’s drunk. I can’t drive so you have to. His house. C’mon.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ssssssssssssssimmmmmonnss I wanna go home with you right now,” slurred a very drunk Grif, who was clutching onto the shirt sleeve of a very annoyed Simmons.

It had been almost two hours and Simmons had not had fun. Grif had had fun. It wasn’t fun to watch, though.

It was almost eleven, and everyone had started to clear out. Grif was here, and Simmons thought that he had heard a growl that sounded either like Tex or Carolina.

“I can’t drive, you fuck. Just get your sister to drive you.” Simmons snapped.

“Ehhh she doesn’t like me in her carrrr,” Grif moaned.

Simmons rolled his eyes and jerked his arm out of Grip’s grif.

Um. Grif’s grip.

He walked over the room towards and towards where he knew Sister was last seen, making out with her date (who didn’t go to BGH, but went to Chorus High). And, lo and behold, there was Sister Grif, in a bright yellow dress that almost glowed against her dark skin and made her look fuckable even to a guy like Simmons. And sitting next to her on the bench was her girlfriend- Kim? Kim Balle? Well, her name was something like that. She was scary strong looking, wearing a simple sky blue dress that only went right past her knees, which were currently entangled within Sister’s legs.

“Hey,” Simmons said when he had stopped next to them. “I need you to drive Grif home.”

“Go away nerrrrrrrrd,” She called to him without even turning away from her girlfriend. “I don’t hafta take anyone anywhere. Why can’t he just walk home like he said he was gonna? Or why can’t _you_ take him home?”

“He’s very drunk. Very very drunk. And I can’t drive.” Simmons said quickly.

Sister looked up at him and grinned like a shark who liked to drink juice boxes and make dirty jokes. “Yeah, you’re not one lookin’ to drive.” Then, she turned to where Simmons had walked over from, and Simmons turned to see what she was looking at.

“But maybe you could drive a boat, Sir Captain Obvious,” She snickered, still looking at Grif, who was sprawled on the floor of the gym, still where Simmons had pushed him off of his arm. Simmons frowned. Grif was stupid for getting drunk on his own damn punch. Then he turned to Sister again, but before he even opened his mouth, she was talking again.

“I still ain’t driving.” She glared up at Simmons. She only looked away when her girlfriend gently grabbed at her chin and brought her ear next to her mouth. Kim whispered something, and Sister smiled that grin again and glanced up at Simmons.

“Yeah, yeah, that’ll do,” She whispered to Kim and then reached for her purse.

“Okay, bro, I won’t drive,” She said to Simmons while he heard a jinling coming from her purse. “But you feel free to.” She smiled sweetly and held out a keychain with three keys on it and a hot pink charm that looked like a shoe but could be a flaccid dick.

Simmons gulped.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Tucker scowled out of the window to nothing in particular. He was angry. Angry at something. He didn’t really know what he was angry at. All he knew was that this anger had started when he and North had been trying to get him outside to the twins’ truck, and Wash had stopped and started grinding on them, like he was in a fucking gay bar or something. North just smiled and pushed him away firmly, but Tucker had just lost focus and let him do it for another five seconds before North pulled him away.

Wash was just really drunk, and that was about the time when Tucker started getting annoyed. But then, in the parking lot, he had smelled something on Wash that he’d never smelled before (and that was _creepy, and literally what the fuck, Tucker)._

He smelled like not Wash. What the fuck, seriously. So now Tucker knew Wash well enough that he could _smell_ when he wasn’t himself.

So, Tucker was angry at something. At himself. For being a creepy ass.

At least the night was almost over. Wash was quieting down in the back seat of the truck, and North hadn’t even said anything. Tucker was just sitting there, sitting next to Wash and listening to the damn radio with his arms crossed.

“Heyyyyy guys I’m thirsty…” Wash moaned loudly, moving to lean on Tucker, and Tucker couldn't even bring himself to say bowchicka- eh. Maybe he was just unsettled, because he felt Wash’s breath and his warmth and-

_what the fuck._

“Hey. Hey guys.” Wash giggled.

“Yes, Wash?” North sighed, looking in the rearview at them.

“What is a cation afraid of?” Wash giggled again and then whispered “ _Dogions._ ”

He was giggling to himself, and Tucker sighed. He just needed to get his mind off of the situation. What was something that grossed him out even more than the fact that Wash was _drooling on his nice shirt ohmygodnoway-_

“North! Uhm, uh- How is South gonna get home?” Tucker burst out, pushing Wash away forcefully with his arm, and trying to ignore the fact that Wash hit his head against the window and then slowly slumped forward-

“She was gonna try and go home with that one chick, the one with the 4.79 GPA, she said she was hot or something-”

_-oh dear god Tucker had knocked Wash out hadn’t he oh jesus-_

“It probably won’t work out, that chick doesn’t seem like she’s very interested in sex, especially not with South-”

Ok, there, he was breathing and snoring, ok he was fine. God.

He just wanted to go home.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Simmons clutched the steering wheel like a lifeline. It was his lifeline, he had to keep his feet light, and look both ways, and go very slowly and- RED LIGHT OH DEAR GOD-

Simmons slammed the breaks and heard a thump and a grunt from the sole other passenger, who had whimpered shotgun while Simmons had been dragging him through the parking lot.

“Simmons whyyyyyyyyy,” Grif wailed.

“Shut the fuck up I hate you!” Simmons yelled back.

They were going about 20 mph down a long dirty road. It was dark, and Simmons was a virgin driver, and this was the worst thing he had ever done, it was the worst the worst and it was all Grif’s fault. All of it.

If he hadn’t been so stupid and hadn’t spiked the punch, if he hadn't stayed and gotten himself drunk, if his sister wasn’t such an asshole lesbian, then maybe they weren't gonna have to die in a car crash made by an _underage virgin driver!_

“Stop yelling.” Grif grunted, his body bent over with his head between his knees.

“FUCK YOU!” Simmons yelled, his voice cracking, and did he mention that everything sucked ass?

They drove for a while in silence, nothing but the whir of the engine and the sound of the dust under the wheels. They turned down another street of houses, and suddenly Simmons could feel a pressure on his knee. It was warm, and shaped like a hand with stubby fingers, and it was sitting there lightly, like it didn’t want to scare him. It had failed.

Simmons stiffened and slowed the car down as he looked down at his lap. And there, on his right knee, was Grif’s hand. Grif hadn’t moved from his bent position, but now his hand was on Simmons’s knee. Simmons gulped, then looked back up at the road.

But then, it started moving. It slowly trailed up Simmons’s thigh, and he could feel every touch and every wrinkle in his nice pants the hand creeped over, and though it only stopped a few inches away from where it started, it felt like an eternity. He felt goosebumps rise on his arms.

Simmons had started to feel his face heat up, and he was starting to sweat under his vest, and he glanced down at Grif again and saw one of his eyes staring at his face steadily from under his mop of hair, clear and obviously studying him. Simmons blushed and gulped and held onto the steering wheel tighter, willing himself to get somewhere fast- where was he even going, oh god, was he lost?

And then The Hand crept farther up, and slowly moved to the inside of his thigh, and it wasn’t his fault that he was sensitive there, and it wasn’t his fault that his dick had gotten harder, and he shivered even though it was really hot in this car, and he almost gasped but instead grit his teeth and kept his feet light on the pedals and focused on the road.

The hand had stopped with it’s fingers in between his thighs, and Simmons was nervous but also didn’t really want it to stop, but he was driving and they were going to die if Grif kept this up and his dick was now quite hard but seriously this was not a good id-

And then it moved and brushed against his cock and Simmons jumped about 3 feet into the air, actually hitting his head against the roof of the car and his hands weren’t steady anymore and the car was _swerving it was swerving and they were going to DIE oh god-_

A mailbox. They hit a red mailbox, and it stopped the car, which had actually only swerved about 5 feet at 25 mph, and the car was only scratched but the mailbox had splintered. And there was no way out of this mess.

Simmons’s chest was heaving, and Grif had sat back up and was staring out the front windshield at the aforementioned mess. Simmons looked at Grif, and was confused immediately, because Grif didn’t look drunk to him anymore, his eyes were clear and there was a blank look on his face that didn’t belong to a drunk man, but belonged to a man who just didn’t know what to say.

And then, Grif said what they were both thinking; “Shit, this is bad.”

Grif looked back at Simmons, and SImmons didn’t have any time to think about why Grif had started touching him, y’know, that way, before a loud slam and terrifying voice yelled out into u=the front yard of this man’s house.

They snapped their heads to look at the angry guy, and Simmons almost had a heart attack, because Sarge was charging at them and Simmons made the connection of red mailbox and favorite color and team name, but Grif was yelling at him to start the car and _go!_

So Simmons did. He started the car, pressed his foot on the pedals aggressively, and they swung away from the angry accented Senior and drove away quickly, but not passing the speed limit.

 

 


	9. Actually Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hectic homecoming night is finally coming to an end, but not without transportation issues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey everyone, happy new year! i hope you all had a great holiday.
> 
> the first part of this chapter with grif and simmons was written by emma because she INSISTED on writing it (<3), but the rest is by me. i had a bit of trouble with this chapter but i think it came out okay.

Simmons was driving away so fast it was like it was a goddamn race, and Grif was not happy and was actually very unsettled by the fact that he had caused an accident in Sarge’s front yard.

Well, he wasn’t really that upset about it being Sarge’s front yard. He was more freaked out about how he cause the accident.

It had started as a joke, really. But then… it hadn’t been a joke. He had been, for real, feeling up Simmons while pretending to be drunk.

Oh yeah. He was just pretending to be drunk, by the way. It wasn’t like he had so low an alcohol tolerance that he could get drunk from a couple of fruity drinks. But it wasn’t like Simmons knew that. He just knew about the smoking and the hiding booze in his locker and… Ok, so maybe Simmons maybe knew about the tolerance. Didn’t hide the fact that he was either too stupid to make the connection, or that he had let Grif run his hand up his… No, he was just stupid.

Why did he even- no he knew why he did it. He was a thirsty bitch who had a thing for guys with skinny thighs. He liked it when boys blushed easily. Fuck off, that still didn’t make him gay.

Well. It did. Shit, Grif was gay as hell. That was a shock.

The shock still didn’t stop the stiffy that had plagued Grif for at least ten minutes. Damn.

He needed to get away from Simmons for a bit. He dove into the backseat, and Simmons yelled something about road safety, which was ironic because of how he was driving. Grif didn’t even used the seat. He just laid on the floor, with his hips behind the driver’s seat and positioned so that even if he tried, Simmons couldn’t see anything. And the hardness was draining, which was nice.

Simmons did a sharp turn that almost slammed Grif’s head into the side of the car and which dislodged a bunch of crumbs from the floor of the car, which caused Grif to remember that they were in Sister’s car. He had felt up Simmons in Sister’s car. Gross.

Grif looked up, out of the window, and watched the trees fly past. He wondered where they were going. Maybe to Grif’s house, but if Simmons left Sis’s car there, how would he get home?

Eh. It would all work out. For now, Grif was tired, and the spastic turns of the car was slowly putting him to sleep.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Once North had pulled into Wash’s driveway, he got out and beckoned for Tucker to get out as well. And Tucker, who was tired beyond words, had no choice but to obey. He went around to the other side of the car as North was opening the back door.

North took one glance into the back seat and sighed. “He drooled all over my seats.” He bent over into the car and patted Wash’s pockets (Tucker got a great view of North’s ass, by the way) until he heard a jingling sound. He grabbed the set of keys from Wash’s pants and thrust them out towards Tucker. “Go unlock the front door for me, will you?”

Once he had the keys, Tucker started his journey up the driveway, since the house rested on a small hill. Wash’s house was pretty old, or at least unkempt, evident by the chipped paint along the exterior and the rusting gutters. The driveway wasn’t even pavemented, it was mostly worn gravel and rock, and the sidewalk leading to the front door was cracked. The yard at least looked like someone was trying to take care of it, since the lawn appeared to be recently mowed and there weren't a lot of weeds.

Tucker walked up a few steps leading to the door. He opened a screen door, which creaked a little as he did so, then stuck the only other key that wasn’t a car key into the lock of the front door, and pushed it open. He held it open for North, who was close behind with Wash draped over his back. North immediately turned left and headed up the stairs, assumingly to Wash’s bedroom. Tucker followed carefully. He’d never been upstairs before.

The stairs creaked as they climbed - they were wooden, like the floors. North reached the top and turned right, then right again into a rather small bedroom, Tucker coming in behind him. He flipped a light switch on and the room brightened, revealing it’s light blue walls and laundry-ridden floor. A few model airplanes hung from the ceiling (probably from when he was younger, it was still stupid though) and various posters were plastered across the walls.

Tucker admired the room, finding it somewhat interesting to see the place Wash probably spent a lot of his personal time in. Not that he really cared that much, but still. He looked around a bit until he saw Wash’s dresser and noticed some picture frames sitting upon it. Most of them were strangely empty, but one held a picture of a seemingly younger Wash holding the shoulders of a smaller boy in front of him.

He examined the picture closer but just couldn’t recognize the other person. Maybe it was a cousin? Or a younger brother, but Wash had never mentioned having siblings before, and he hadn’t seen anybody else in the house aside from his grandmother. Whoever it was sure seemed to make him happy, given by the huge smile on Wash’s face in the photo.

It was kind of a strange sight, because it wasn’t until then that Tucker realized that Wash rarely ever smiled, and even when he did, it wasn’t, like, a real smile. Actually, tonight was the first time he’d seen Wash smile and laugh so much, but maybe it didn’t count since he was fucking wasted. At any rate, he did wonder why Wash didn’t smile anymore, it was a fine ass smile when it came down to it. Even Tucker had to admit that.

The sound of squeaking springs brought Tucker out of his thoughts, and he turned around to see Wash sprawled out across his bed. He was out.

“Well, that’s that.” North said, looking down at his sleeping friend with his hands on his hips.

Tucker approached the bed and saw that Wash’s shirt was hiked up, revealing a rather nasty scar on his stomach. It shocked him and he almost backed away, but opted not to. He’d never actually seen Wash shirtless before, he always wore a tank top during their training sessions, and now Tucker understood why. (But minus the scar it was a real shame he never took his shirt off, the guy’s abs could cure cancer.)

“Hey, uh, North?” He asked slowly at first, pointing to Wash’s stomach. “What’s that scar from?”

“Oh, that?” North said, as if it were nothing out of the ordinary. He opened his mouth to say more, but shut it quickly, thinking for a moment. “Well… He doesn’t like to talk about that, so I won’t say anything for his sake. But if you want to ask him about it in your own time, go ahead, but I can’t guarantee he’ll tell you.” He leaned forward and generously pulled Wash’s shirt over his stomach, and even went so far as to put a blanket over him.

Tucker didn’t respond, but he understood that it was some personal shit, so he didn’t question any further. North had started to leave the room and Tucker took one last look at Wash before he flipped the light switch, and quietly shut the bedroom door behind him.

The ride back was… awkward, to say the least. Tucker hardly knew this guy, and he seemed nice enough, but he didn’t know what to talk about. Maybe the night just spoke for itself. Eventually, North turned the radio up and they listened to the classic rock station to pass the time. Sometimes, North hummed along to the songs, but it just made it more awkward.

Tucker had suddenly found himself a lot more… interested in Wash? When he said it that way it sounded kinda gay, but he just wanted to know more about him. They’d been training together for almost two months now, and he still felt like he barely knew him. North was obviously a good friend of his, maybe he’d have some sweet facts about the senior.

“So, uh… North.” He began, leaning away from the window and instead glancing thoughtfully at the road in front of him. “Is Wash, like… a virgin? ‘Cus, I mean, if someone with a room like that wanted me to stick it in them I sure as hell wouldn’t.” Tucker figured he might as well start with the good stuff.

“What, are you interested in him?” North said with a chuckle, which earned a disgusted noise from Tucker. “I’m kidding, but to give you the answer, no, he’s not a virgin. He’s gotten around quite a bit, actually.” The blonde paused for a second. “But don’t tell him I told you that. Wash is pretty discreet when it comes to his sex life. Or, his life in general.”

Tucker was honestly shocked. His eyes were wide and if it were a cartoon, his jaw would be on the fucking floor. “Are you fucking serious? That’s… That’s… wow.” He ran a hand through his hair as he tried to imagine Wash in bed. Well, not like that, but you know, was he actually good? “How many girls has he banged? Were they hot?”

North smiled again, tapping the steering wheel with his fingers. “Well, not exactly. He’s not really in to that, you know.” There were a few seconds of silence, with some Dave Matthews Band song playing lowly on the radio. North tilted his head towards Tucker. “I mean, he’s gay. Don’t tell him I said that, either.”

“Oh. Ohh.” gaped Tucker. This was just getting better and better. Not that he had a problem with Wash being gay, he just didn’t… seem like he’d be into guys. Or anyone, really. He had so many more questions, he wanted every last detail of Wash’s sexual life if only for the satisfaction of knowing about it. But it was pretty clear that Wash probably didn’t want to open up like that (bow chicka bow wow), and so Tucker had no choice but to respect that.

But maybe just that was enough for now.

When they finally reached Tucker’s house, Tucker thanked North for the ride, and went inside, still feeling a pretty buzzed. He could already feel a horrendous headache coming on as he changed into more comfortable clothes and climbed into his bed. Though he was incredibly tired, sleep didn’t come to him for a while, and he was left to lay there in anticipation for the rough morning to follow.

And to make matters worse, the image of Wash’s smile just wouldn’t leave his head.

 

* * *

 

Feet shuffled across the paved road as Caboose slowly trudged home, a passed out Church on his back. It was cool now, well, as cool as it was going to get in a desert town. But Caboose’s mind was still racing with the events that had occurred not too long ago.

_“Caboose. your mom was a fuckup. Totes fucked.”_

Just repeating those words in his head brought tears to Caboose’s eyes. How could Church say something like that? His mom had loved him, it wasn’t her fault that the mean people took him away! ...Right?

On his back, Church shifted to rest his head on Caboose’s shoulder and mumbled incoherently. Caboose began to feel a wet spot on his shirt. “Muh… No… Don’t eat that…”

If Caboose had to be honest, he really didn’t want to be around Church right now. Church had hurt him, and even if he didn’t mean it… It was a lot for him to handle. But Church still needed to get home somehow. Tex would not have taken him home because they didn’t go anywhere together anymore. His sister Carolina was going home with York.

And so, all he could do was pick Church up from off the gym floor and carry him home. He had still been laughing and carrying a red cup, but he was mostly silent now and the cup had been dropped a few blocks back. Caboose saw his own house in the distance, and if it was any other night he would have brought Church to his house and taken care of him. But tonight, Caboose decided, was not a good night for that.

So he kept walking, past his house (he saw that the living room lights were on, so his foster mom was probably waiting for him) and on towards Church’s house a few blocks down. Though Church was fairly heavy, it didn’t bother Caboose since he was pretty strong. The warmth on his back was almost comforting. Almost…

After a few more minutes of silent walking, Caboose was suddenly walking up to the front door of the Church household and knocking on the it. A few moments later his father answered the door, looking past Caboose’s shoulder at his unconscious son.

“He fell asleep, sir.” Caboose explained, anxiously glancing at the ground. Church’s dad has always made him a little nervous. He kneeled down and nudged Church off of his back.

Church flopped onto the ground and groggily opened his eyes. He was still pretty out of it, and passed out again almost immediately with a groan. His father sighed, grabbed Church by his shoulders, and dragged him inside, thanking Caboose and closing the door.

Caboose stood there for a few moments. He stared blankly down at the welcome mat in front of the door, but really he was lost. He was empty, and confused. His mind was spinning with thoughts, with what Church had said to him, with his mom, and he didn’t know how to comprehend any of it.

So he turned and headed back toward the sidewalk, toward his own house, and finally he let his tears fall.

 

* * *

 

Simmons saw Grif’s house coming up and let out a sigh of relief. He drifted to the left side of the street, preparing to park and get the hell out of the driver’s seat. This entire night had been a fucking roller coaster ride for him, and all he wanted was to go home and sleep and try to forget about the alcohol, the entire dance, and especially the feeling of Grif’s hand on his thigh.  

His grip on the steering wheel tightened just thinking about it. Did Grif -- did he have feelings for him or something? Was he doing it just to be a dick? No, his touch had felt a little… too soft to be a joke. Oh god. He really didn’t need this right now. He was stressed enough as it was.

The car slowly came to a stop in front of Grif’s house, and and Simmons parked it and pulled the keys out of the ignition. Then he unbuckled and whipped himself around to the backseat. “Grif! We’re here, now take me home!” To his surprise, Grif was not sitting in the seats at all, he was laying on the floor, eyes closed, and stomach rising and falling steadily. He was fucking sleeping.  “Are you serious? Grif, wake up!” It had only been like, five minutes since Grif fucking parkour’d back there.

Simmons nudged the body on the floor. “Grif.” He shook him a little harder. “Grif.” He did everything that he could do to wake Grif up without harming him, but to no avail. The fatass wouldn’t even budge.

With a scowl, Simmons threw the keys at Grif, opened the car door, got out, locked the car from the inside, and shut the door. Grif could deal with that later when he woke up, or when his sister got home. He was done with him for now, and it’s not like he was going to die in the car.

He stood in the mild desert air for a few moments, trying to recompose himself after what had just happened. He had driven a car, crashed into a mailbox, and gotten felt up in the span of fifteen minutes. And now, he needed to find a way to get home before his curfew (which was 11:30). The logical thing to do would be to walk, but let’s be real, he didn’t have the time or energy for that, and plus he lived a little far from Grif’s house. Not to mention, Grif didn’t exactly live in a safe neighborhood.

Nobody else would take him home because, well… He didn’t have anyone else. No one on the debate team had his number, and he’d rather stab himself in the fucking eye than ride in a car with one of the student council members.

Really, the only choice he had left was to call his mom, which he really didn’t want to do because… it’s his mom. His mom would flip if she saw that his friend lived in such a bad neighborhood, and even more that his friend was asleep in the backseat of his car. She was always going on about how she wanted her son to have fellow smart kids as friends, but really, the only person he could consider a friend was a fat and smelly Hawaiian boy that probably slept 19 hours a day. Oh well. It was a start.

Sighing, Simmons took his cell phone from his pocket and called his mom. He felt really stupid standing there on the sidewalk, in his slightly wrinkled sweater vest, listening to the ringing on the other line.

His mother picked up, and after a rather frustrating conversation about why Grif couldn’t take him home (without giving the actual reason why, of course) and listening to her go on about how proud she was of Simmons for driving, he gave her directions to Grif’s house and hung up.

Then, Simmons got up onto the hood of Grif’s sister’s car, and sat there, waiting for his mom to come, and most of all waiting for this chaotic night to end.

  
  



	10. Manic Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mondays are horrible and strange for the BGH crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's finally here! and i assure you, it is not an april fool's joke. sorry it took so long. this second semester of school has been rough on us and we haven't had much time to write. or, i guess emma hasn't had much time to write, since she's the one that wrote this chapter. anyway, i hope you enjoy!

Church drug his feet through the side doors of the school, hoping that no one would notice the fact that he was obviously hungover. The hallways were all empty, which was surprisingly not surprising for Church. No one really went to school the Monday after a dance. Only stupid people like Church did.  
‘Stupid people who like to get black-out drunk twice in one weekend.‘ Church thought.  
He’d woken up, Saturday morning, with one of the biggest hangovers he’d ever gotten. He didn’t remember how he’d gotten home, or what happened to Caboose. All he knew is that life sucked.  
For the rest of Saturday and Sunday, he slowly recovered from homecoming, until his dad finally told him that he was a disappointment on Sunday evening, and then Church broke the lock on his dad’s booze cabinet and drank all of his whiskey at 2 am.

  
And then he came in to school on Monday. Church was a grade-a stupidhead.

  
Church sighed, and turned around. He was gonna take a nap, then eat lunch, then sleep until debate meet. He had to see Caboose.

 

Grif drew a large breath into his mouth and held it there. The taste of smoke burnt his tongue, and he slowly exhaled as it became too much, as it stung his tongue and began curling down his throat.  
He was leaning on the wall of his courtyard, standing in the middle of a circle of cigarette stubs. He had been standing there for who knows how long, and he wasn’t even really thinking about anything. Just smoking his tension away.

  
Actually, that was a huge fucking lie. He was thinking, but the only thing he could think about was Simmons. And why that was, he had no idea. It was probably something really gay.  
HIs mind kept replaying the night of the dance, pretending to get drunk and feeling the warmth of simmo’s thigh as he slowly - ah, jesus. Grif was a Fucked Up Dude. A F.U.D. Grif was a F.U.D.  
He let out another breath and let his last cigarette fall to the floor. He needed more. And maybe some food.

 

Church shuffled into Physics, sighing at the now-familiar bright lights and shiny tiles of the science room. He went to his usual desk, and was only a little concerned when he saw that Caboose’s chair next to him was empty. Sometimes Caboose lost track of time on his way to school. He might have stopped to pet a dog or something. Heh. Caboose was sweet like that.

  
The old teacher, Mr. No-One-Cares-Who-My-Name-Is, began the class by telling everybody there (all five of them) (seriously, what was wrong with this school?) that this period would be a study period. And, seeing as Church didn’t have to study, and didn’t have a Caboose to help, he got out his phone and started texting everybody he knew. He started texting Grif, who was, of course, not there, and Simmons, who was no where to be found. He got only a ‘don’t bother me’ from Grif, and nothing from Simmons. When he texted Tucker, he got an immediate reply of ‘don’t talk to me. just talk to cabooes.’ and nothing more. He was bored and alone and bored.

  
Church looked up from his phone when he heard the door creak slowly open. The teacher looked up, then looked back down to the crossword he’d been doing. Caboose inched his way into the room, and caught his eyes with Church's. They both froze, and what little sound that had been in the room seemed to fall away. Caboose started, wide-eyed at Church, and Church looked back, a little confused at Caboose’s behavior. Then, Caboose stalked across the room, towards Church, their eyes never moving off each other. It was a little wierd, up until Caboose suddenly sat down in a chair almost ten feet away from Church. He looked down at his lap, and became very still.

  
Church blinked. What the fuck. Was that.

* * *

 

Donut cheerily walked into English class. He had had a lovely day so far, with it being so strangely quiet. He felt liking gliding around. He felt like kissing somebody. But that would be too forward. Ha! He took his seat and looked at the board. Nothing new, this period would be completely silent reading, la la la. Donut took out the book for light reading he had, _War and Peace_ , and oldie but a goodie. He opened to his spot, and began to read.

  
Slowly, others filled in the seats. They were all spread out, as if no one wanted to mess with each other today. But, oddly enough, Church was not sitting near Caboose today. Instead, Church was staring concernedly at Caboose, who was reading one of his favorite books; Dick and Jane go to the Park. Tucker walked in, and sat a couple seats down from church, and pulled out a comic book with a curvy woman dressed in black on the front. She was laying on a spiderweb, which was weird, but Donut wasn’t the type to kink-shame.

  
The bell rung, and the teacher closed the door.

  
But after only a few minutes, Church became disruptive.

  
He began throwing crumpled up pieces of paper at Caboose, who ignored them. As Donut watched, Church wrote on more pieces of paper and threw those at Caboose, who kept ignoring the abuse.  
Soon enough, others noticed the action too, with Tucker even going so far as to hissing “What the fuck are you doing to Caboose?” Church then ignored him, and continued to throw notes at Caboose. Caboose began to curl in on himself, trying to make his huge frame smaller, and his face became more and more pained.

  
This went on until Church ran out of paper, which is to say, for maybe two more minutes. Church doesn’t keep a lot of paper with him. Caboose just sat in the middle of a pile of sad-looking papers. It was a little pitiful, and that was coming from Donut, the guy who made everyone cry with his interpretation of Hamlet.

  
The bell rang, and Caboose shot out of the room, keeping his head down. Church gathered his stuff quickly and went after them. tucker sighed and sauntered out, leaving Donut and this weird freshman (What was his name? Pam? Palom?) alone in the room.

  
Donut glanced at the teacher. She’d been asleep for almost the whole period, and the bell hadn’t succeeded in waking her. Donut looked at the freshman, who was on the ground, shuffling through the notes.  
“Hey! Those are personal, stop touching them!!” Donut said firmly.

  
The freshman squeaked and ran out of the room, his small form disappearing through the door.

  
Donut bent down and picked up the notes. He stuffed them into his bag, resolving to give them to Church when he saw him next.

* * *

 

Grif wandered through the halls, lost and a little high and worried that he was going to run into Simmons and say something really stupid like ‘Heyyyy sorry about feeling you up last night! I had a great time otherwise.'

  
He heard the bell ring as if it were far away and not right above his head, and saw the fraction of people usually at school leave their classrooms. A strong body pushed past him, and as he realized that that body had been Caboose, he heard Church yell his name and felt him push past too.

  
Grif looked behind him, and realized that he’d been standing in the doorway to an English classroom. He glanced in the room, and saw Tucker picking up his shit, and Donut being a girl, as usual. No Simmons. But Simmons didn’t even have English third period, so why did he even check and why did Grif know Simmons schedule? Grif sighed and slouched his shoulders. He went after Church. He still needed more cigarettes.

* * *

 

Caboose almost ran through the hallways, shedding sheets of paper every now and then, with Church running behind him on his short legs, picking up the notes and almost falling in his hurry. Grif shuffled behind Church at a distance, watching the weird display and thinking about his next cigarette and definitely not thinking about Simmons.

  
Caboose glanced behind him, and saw the tiny, angry man trip over his own feet and took this chance to duck into the nearest classroom. When Church looked up, he didn’t see Caboose, and he sat there, in a daze, until Grif shuffled next to him and hit his thigh gently with the side of his foot.

  
“You got a cig?” Grif said more than asked.

  
“Yeah.” Church agreed more than said.

* * *

 

Simmons walked through the hall, trying not to make a sound. He tried to stay out of view of the windows that looked out from classrooms, and tried to not leave any tracks of shoe oil or dirt. If he was correct in his timing, he should be in Latin. He should be in class. But he wasn’t. He was a bad student who didn’t go to first period because he chickened out last minute because he didn’t want to see the guy that had gotten drunk and felt him up and then made him take him home. Ugh.

  
Simmons turned a corner in the empty hall and ran headfirst into Washington. Why Wash was there and not in class, he didn’t know. All he knew was that suddenly they were sitting in their asses on the dirty BGH floor, looking at each other like lost children.

  
Wash stared at him, he stared at Wash, then Wash shot up, said a quick ‘Uh- Sorry,’ and rushed away. Simmons just stayed on his ass. He didn’t feel like getting up.

* * *

 

Tucker bounced his knee under the lunch table. He was bored as hell, and being bored while you can’t get on your phone and you only have weird thoughts for company is messed up. Tucker just wanted the BGH lunch room to have wifi.

A lot of people were missing from the lunch table, (Church, Grif, Simmons, Sarge, almost every Council member except for Florida) and of those who were there, no one was talking. Except Donut. He was talking about some interior design strategy he’d seen online or some shit.

This whole day seemed to have been moving as slow as grass grows, which was slow as fuck. And Tucker was caught in the middle of some hella gay drama with his friends, what with them all avoiding each other and throwing notes and stuff. It was making him tired, and all he really wanted to do was go home and nap. BUt he had shit to do. Like make sure Wash was OK.

  
And the thing about that was, no one had seen Wash all day. It was strange and unnatural and everyone who knew him well was a little worried that he wasn’t at school. He was obsessed with school. It didn’t make any sense.

Not to mention Simmons not being here, and Church and Caboose acting all crazy. The whole school seemed to hum with the absolute unusual-ness of it all.

Tucker poked at his food with his fork. He really wanted to see Wash, and just hang out, and make this weird feeling that had been in his stomach since the dance go away. Tucker couldn’t help but feel that he had seen something he shouldn't have, that he’d encroached upon Wash’s privacy somehow. This was stupid, of course, since he’d only seen some pictures and a room. But that didn't stop the feeling.

Just as he was about to start making a food pyramid on his tray, and heavy hand grabbed his wrist, and he jerked his head, only to be looking straight into the eyes of the devil.

Sarge, with his red face and sweaty chest and twitching left eye, was holding Tucker's writs so hard it felt numb. Tucker gulped. Sarge’s left eye only twitched when he was very, very pissed off. Sarge took in a large breath, and then hissed, “Tell the whole team. Meeting today, after school. Those not present will be found guilty.” The warm air and spit ran over Tucker’s face, and he shook, just a little, for fear of what Sarge would do next. But he didn’t do anything. He just let go of Tucker and walked away.

Tucker stared after him, then quickly left the lunch room to go find cell service. He had to warn the others.

* * *

 

Church woke up to the sound of his phone going off like crazy. On a normal day, that wouldn’t have gotten him up, but Tucker had changed the alert sound on Church’s phone, so now whenever Tucker texted him, Kelis’ Milkshake started playing and playing. So, Church had to get up and get his phone before Grif (Who was still asleep on the bench next to him) could hear anything about boys or yards. Jesus, he really needed to learn how to change his alerts.

  
Church reached for and unlocked his phone in one smooth move, accustomed to doing that during Grif’s late night text-a-thons, where he texted everyone at 3 in the morning with a stupid question just to see how they would react. He checked his messages, and saw that all of his texts were from Tucker. Go figure.

  
‘church u hav 2 go 2 debate 2nite’  
‘srge has gon nutz dude’  
‘he sad somthin bout guilty if u dont come’  
‘*said lemao’  
‘BUT STILL IT WSA SCARY’

  
Church heaved a long, heavy, and depressed sigh. He looked at the time. 3:30. So they had slept through the second half of the day. Nice. He looked at the floor around them, littered with Church’s last box of cigarettes. Damn, he wanted those to last. He and Grif had left school, and just sat in the empty courtyard and smoked. At one point, these two big, scary guys tried to get in, but Grif had barred the door with the other old bench that sat in the opposite end of the yard. When church had asked him how he knew they were coming, he just waved his hand and said ‘Locus and his boy-toy. They always come here during last period.’

  
Church glanced at Grif, and was mortified to see his eyes open and his mouth in a dirty grin. Church snarled, and silently dared him to say anything about his fucking text-tone. However, Grif said something anyway.

  
“So. Do you like to shake the milk?” Grif giggled.

  
“Yeah, fuck you.” Church said through grit teeth. He just wanted to go home and sleep. BUt caboose, and the debate meet, and life. Ew.

  
“Debate team meet in… ten minutes.”Church said, looking at the clock on his phone. He heard Grif moan beside him. “Shut up, we have to go. Tucker said Sarge looked pissed and talked about guilt or something. So.”

  
“Yeah, and Caboose will be there too, right?” Grif joked.

  
“Yeah. And Simmons.” Church retaliated, trying to cover up his anger that Grif would be such a hypocrite. They were both messed up over their frien- things. Their things. That they cared about solely in a platonic way.

  
Church sighed and Grif glared at the opposite wall. This would be an interesting meet.

* * *

 

Simmons steeled himself and walked into the classroom. It was silent, and had a subtle smell of cigarettes. Grif, Church, Caboose, Tucker, Lopez, Donut, and Doc (why was the student nurse here?) looked up at him as he entered. Everyone except for Sarge, who was ripping up whole workbooks in the corner. Simmons sat in the middle of the classroom, sort of a way from Grif so as to send him a message of wariness of his presence. Tucker leaned over his desk and pointed at Church, who was sitting in the darkest corner of the room, and then Caboose, who was sitting closest to the door. Neither of them were looking at each other, and their attitudes cast a dreary feeling over the club.

  
Simmons glanced at Grif from the corner of his eye. The smell of cigarettes was stronger nearer to him, so Simmons guessed what he’d been doing all day. Simmons quickly turned away when Grif had looked at him, and SImmons then saw that Donut and Doc were sitting very close together and talking in quiet voices, pouring over a series of small pieces of paper in their laps, hidden from everyone behind them. Donut looked concerned, in his gay-but-in-a-happy-way way. Doc just looked at Donut. And in a very homo way.

  
Before Simmons could process the sight, Sarge jumped out of his corner, scattering pieces of his torn workbooks, and stood in front of the board. He slowly scanned the room, looking into everyone’s eyes. Simmons gulped, but did not flinch when his eyes met the scary senior’s. He could at least be a little proud of himself today, for that.

  
“Lopez!” Sarge boomed.

  
“¿Sí?” Lopez lazily called back.

  
“We need to create a court room. I’m putting everybody in this room on trial for treason against their leader, i.e. ME.”

  
“Señor, usted es un culo mudo.” Lopez sighed, but got up and began pushing things around. He pushed the desks back (with the club still in them), and brought the grey desk up the the front, and little to the left of the center of the wall. He then set a solitary chair to the immediate right of the desk, and then plopped back into his seat.

  
Sarge took his place in the desk chair, looming, red-faced, and with twitching left eye, he intimidated everyone in the room, except for Grif, who looked as if he could fall asleep anytime.

  
“Here is the case.” Sarge stated slowly, as if talking to a room of dumb lawyers. “Last Friday, we had a dance at Blood Gulch High School. A dance which I know that many of you attended. Well, soon after the dance had ended, an unidentified car ran into my mailbox, then quickly rolled away.”

  
Simmons breathing stopped.

  
“This trial is to determine who committed this heinous crime, because I know it was one of you assholes. I know how much you dislike me” his eyes turned to Grif, “And how far you are willing to go” his eyes turned to Church, “But I will not. Tolerate it.”

  
Simmons looked at Grif, who didn’t look any different except for the fact that his lips had tightened. He didn't look at Simmons. Sarge sat in silence. Simmons tried to gather his thoughts. This was his fault, but it also wasn't. he didn’t know, this might have been a completely different car running into a completely different mailbox. BUt he knew it wasn’t And then the thought occurred to him; what if Grif had manipulated him into losing control of Sister’s car and running it into Sarge’s mailbox? It was finally a good reason for Grif feeling him up! He just wanted to be able to place the blame on Simmons when the consequences fell. But how did he know where Sarge lived? And why Simmons? The whole idea pissed him off. He didn't like to be used. No, he hated it.

  
“Who will testify first?” Sarge asked.

  
Simmons was opening his mouth to say that he will, he’ll get up there first and say that he saw Grif do it, but before he could, Donut asked to.

  
Donut walked up to the front of the room, and sat in the chair.

  
“Any opening statement?” Sarge inquired.

  
“Can I go? Donut asked sweetly.

  
Sarge turned his head slowly and looked at Donut. Just looked, with a quizzical expression on his face. After a few agonizing moments, Sarge said ‘yes’, and Donut and Doc gathered their stuff (including the odd papers) and walked out.

  
Everyone stared at Sarge. Sarge stared back, then calmly asked who would like to testify next. Caboose raised his hand. Sarge nodded.

  
Caboose slowly got up and walked up to the front like he was going to a funeral. He sat in the chair, and leaned in towards Sarge’s ear. He whispered to Sarge for several minutes, Sarge’s expression changing from angry to solemn to his stoic understanding. He nodded, and Caboose walked back to his chair gathered his stuff, and left the room. Church shifted in his chair, moved as if he was about to go after him, when Sarge called out menacingly, “Church. Get out, you bastard.”

  
Church zipped out of the room without even looking back.

  
Now, there was only Lopez, Tucker, Grif, and Simmons left. Simmons knew that he was doomed.

  
“Who’s up next?” Sarge bared his teeth in a “grin” meant to intimidate the final three.

  
Tucker got up and sauntered over to the chair, obviously annoyed at everything. He flopped down, making the legs of the chair bend and wobble a bit. He folded his arms and slouched, looking relaxed, tense, annoyed, and undisturbed all at once.

  
“Well Tucker. Are you guilty?” Sarge asked,a not just a little condescending. He was staring at Tucker like Tucker was going to give him the satisfaction of him giving in.

  
“I’m not. I was with my cooler friends all night.” Tucker grinned, “And then I took Wash home.”

  
“Did you see anything anywhere?” Sarge grumbled. No one liked Tucker’s cool friends.

  
“Well, I did see that Sister,” Tucker paused here, gauging Sarge’s reaction. There wasn’t one. “I saw that Sister drove herself there, but got a ride home. Her car wasn’t in the parking lot-”

  
“-Well that’s ‘cus I drove home in it, dipshit.” Grif interjected. Sarge and Tucker both looked at him, probably noticing the half-lie, and he looked back, and Simmons started hyperventilating, and the room was dead still for a good minute.

  
Simmons broke the silence by jumping up and sending his chair backwards. He stilled for a fraction of a second, then ran out of the room yelling: “Grifgotdrunkandmademedriveandwehityourmailboxmaybe?” back to Sarge as he left the room.

  
Sarge got up, catching a terrified Tucker off guard and making him fall off his seat. Grif just stared at Sarge, daring him to do something. But, he didn’t. Sarge just strode out of the room.

  
Tucker let out a breath and Grif lit a cigarette. Today had been weird.

* * *

 

Church had been looking down side hallways for Caboose when he heard footsteps behind him, and turned around to see Sarge taking long strides towards the door that was on his right. He quickly side-stepped, an watched as Sarge went into to… cooking classroom? Oh, he had to see this.

  
Church ducked into the classroom behind Sarge, and caught a glance at a chubby, dark-skinned girl that Church recognized as Grif’s sister sitting on another girl’s lap. However, they were soon disrupted, as Sister got up the minute she saw Sarge. They looked at each other for a second, and then came the yelling.

  
“Why in Sam Hill did you think you could get away with giving a sissy a car to drive a drunkard ass home?”

  
"Why do you give a shit, assmunch?"

  
They went on in this exact same way for almost a good five minutes, both of them gasping for air after every sentence they yelled in one breath, both of their faces an unhealthy red. They fought like they had practiced beforehand, many times, and their insults were as bizarre as the whole situation. After another two minutes, Church couldn't take anymore yelling. He needed to find Caboose.

* * *

 

Church looked up and down the hallway, searching for a Caboose that was sitting right under his nose, inside the Home Ec classroom. Caboose heard Church run the wrong way, and sighed. He didn’t want Church to worry about him. He just hated Church a little bit right now, so he didn't want to talk to Church.

  
He knew that when people drank the special stuff that was at the homecoming dance (Al Capone? Something like that), they got tired and sad and sometimes angry (Caboose remembered that his mom used to get angry when she drank her special stuff, but he never told Sheila that). He also knew that some people were made to tell the truth about stuff when they drank the special juice. And Church had told the truth about how he felt about Caboose's mom, and Sheila, and how he felt sorry for Caboose. And even though Caboose still was friends with Church, Caboose was too angry at his truths to talk to him right now.

  
He jumped when he heard the other door to the room, the one that no one used because of it’s strange location (behind a table in the back that was usually covered in baby dolls and/or old student food projects yet to be thrown away), creak open. Caboose heard soft footsteps slowly come towards him, and he tensed at the sound. He saw the feet coming towards him (huddled on the floor under a group of desks as he was), and he didn't relax until he saw that they were pink converse tennis shoes. Donut!

  
Donut plopped down next to Caboose under the desks, and that's when Caboose saw the collection of paper balls that he cradled in his arms. He recognized them as the ones Church had been throwing at him. He bristled visibly and frowned a bit. "I know you'd rather not read them, and I really don't see why not. You're angry at Church, I get it, but you don't like being angry at him and these definitely might make you less angry." Donut said, giving a reassuring smile and dropping them all on the floor. He then pat Caboose on the hand and got up and left the room the way he'd come.

  
Caboose eyed the papers. He was curious what Church would've said to make him less angry with him. And it couldn't hurt reading just one. He picked a random piece and unwribkled it and began to read.

* * *

 

Church was endlessly wandering. He was about to give up. It had been a hard day, and the more time he spent at school the more he wanted to stab himself. He started to make his way towards the front doors of the school when Caboose opened the door to what Church thought was the empty Home Ec room. He hadn't even said one word to Caboose before Caboose had croaked "Ice cream," and pulled him out the nearest exit. They were walking towards Valhalla Ice Cream Parlor.

  
Good, Church thought, maybe now I can find out what's wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Kudos, comments, and criticism are greatly appreciated! Feel free to talk to us about this au or RVB in general on our blogs: churboosed (me) and memoryisthekeyy (emma).


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